

V 



Class f -Z 3 

Book 2. 

Copyright N° 


COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 


* 














ACHSAH 

THE SISTER OF JAIRUS 


By 

MABEL CRONISE JONES 



BROADWAY PUBLISHING CO. 

835 Broadway , New York 

BRANCH OFFICES: CHICAGO, WASHINGTON. BALTIMORE. 
ATLANTA. NORFOLK. FLORENCE. ALA. 


Copyright, 1911, 

BY 

MABEL CRONISE JONES 



©CI.A289733 


ACHSAH 


CHAPTER I. 

The day was stifling, and Achsah had sought the 
lofty roof-garden, hoping to get a breath of cooler 
air. But even in the garden, sheltered by the mighty 
boughs of overhanging trees, she found no relief 
from the general oppressiveness. Capernaum was 
not often so parched, for, although the city stood 
somewhat back from the beach, the breezes of Gali- 
lee swept over it continually. 

But now, for many weeks, no rain had fallen and 
Capernaum was suffering from a prolonged drought. 
The priests spent their days in the synagogue, of- 
fering incense and supplicating Jehovah. Jairus, as 
one of the rulers of the synagogue, was there much 
of the time. 

Achsah’s life was so circumscribed at best, that 
she missed him sorely from their mid-day meal. Even 
a Jewish maiden, brought up strictly according to 
the teachings of the Mosaic law, and kept under con- 
stant surveillance, was possessed of a woman’s heart. 
So it chanced that Achsah sometimes chafed and fretted 
at her life. It happened now that she gave an im- 
patient sigh, and then took a look over the roof as if 
hoping to descry something new. But it was all the 
same as ever. The garden around her, with its plants 

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and flowers, looked parched and dried. On either 
side the garden were play-grounds for Salome, but 
the child had been too ill of late to take much pleas- 
ure in her usual sports and games. 

The roof opposite the garden — for the house of 
Jairus was built to enclose a square court — was the 
drying place used by the servants. There was noth- 
ing pleasing to Achsah in the scene, and she drew 
her brows together in a sharp frown. The entire 
roof on both the outer and inner edge was fenced in 
by a battlement, as ordered by the Mosaic Law. 

Achsah went listlessly to the side which overhung 
the street and looked below. She was guilty of a 
social transgression in so doing, but just at that mo- 
ment she felt capable of defying every authority and 
custom. 

She watched the people for a while; only a few 
Jewish tradesmen sauntered by and occasionally a 
Roman soldier on his way to the castellated fort, 
which Achsah could discern in the distance. Sud- 
denly, she drew back with a hot, indignant flush on 
her cheeks. A young Roman officer, gazing curiously 
around, had caught a glimpse of the beautiful Jewish 
girl looking down upon him from her lofty vantage 
ground. 

Immediately he made her a low salute, but though 
the action seemed both involuntary and reverent, 
Achsah was none the less angry. 

“He knew that I should not have been there,” she 
said to herself wrathfully ; “he should have acted 
as if he had not seen me. I hate the Romans. They 
may conquer the Jewish nation, but they can never 
conquer the Jews themselves.” 

She walked to the outer staircase which led from 
the roof-garden to the court below. 

As she neared the ground her name was called, and 

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glancing down she saw Salome, her brother's only 
child, sitting by the fountain. 

“Art thou here, Salome ? I thought thou wert 
asleep.” 

“I could not sleep, Aunt Achsah; and I have been 
longing for thee. I thought thou wert in the gar- 
den, but I did not feel strong enough to climb up 
there.” 

“And what art thou doing here, my star?” Achsah 
asked, sitting down on the little bench beside her 
niece, and caressing the dark, curly head. 

“I was trying to imagine that the sound of the 
water dripping down from the fountain was the 
patter of rain.” 

“And didst thou succeed?” Achsah asked tenderly. 

“No, indeed, I did not. For although I shut my 
eyes tightly, I knew that the sun was pouring down 
and that the grass was all dried up.” 

“Shall we stay out here, my precious one?” 

“I am so tired of it, I would rather not. There 
is nothing to be seen but the walls of our home on 
. this side of the fountain.” 

Achsah looked at the pale, pinched face wistfully, 
the tears coming into her eyes as she saw how worn 
Salome seemed. 

“Art thou feeling worse to-day, dear one ?” she ques- 
tioned softly. 

“No, Aunt Achsah, only so very tired; I wish I 
might go off somewhere.” 

“Salome, couldst thou walk as far as the Great 
Grove? If thou canst, I will get thy mother’s leave 
and we will go. Thou canst lie under the trees there, 
and perchance so near the sea, we will find some little 
breeze. I will take some fruit for thee to eat, and 
I will tell thee tales of all the Jewish wars and con- 
quests, as mother used to tell me. Shall we go?” 

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“Yea, let us go,” the child cried eagerly; “if only 
mother will permit.” 

Achsah smiled and kissed the little worn face. “Go 
to thy room, and I will speak to thy mother.” So, hand 
in hand, the maiden and the child went in. Salome 
slowly climbed the broad staircase to her room on the 
second floor, while Achsah searched the day-rooms 
below, knowing that somewhere there she should find 
Binea. 

At last she found her, a gentle, patient little Jewess, 
whose time and thoughts were given almost wholly to 
the ordering of her household. 

“Binea, I wish to take Salome to the Grove; the 
child needs a little change. Thou dost not care?” 

“Of course I care,” the wife of Jairus said quickly; 
“Jairus does not like thee to go about unattended; 
when thou dost do it, I can see that he is ill-pleased, 
though thou art so dear to him he cannot chide. 
Thou hast gone out thrice of late thus, and it must 
not be, as if thou wert a poor fisherman’s wife and 
not the sister of Jairus.” 

“I go veiled, Binea, and when I have been forth, 
it has been on some errand of mercy that could not 
wait. We are not as we were, thou must remember. 
Each year the Roman exactions leave us poorer than 
we were the year before. I cannot always wait until 
some servant now is free to go with me. To-day, 
Salome needs some change. If ye wish, send Adoniram 
down to the Grove when he is through with his 
work.” 

“But then thou must go alone,” Binea said hesi- 
tatingly. 

“And if we must, what then? Methinks we’ll 
grow accustomed to far worse things than that, my 
sister. See! We Jews of Capernaum are so poor 
that we could not even build our own synagogue, and 
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our brothers in Jerusalem were forced to send us aid 
or leave us without a place of worship. Jairus is as 
well to do as any Hebrew in Capernaum, but thou 
dost know well, Binea, that we are really poor nowa- 
days. It doth not behoove us to keep the customs 
of former times. Trouble not thyself, we’ll go by 
the side street and wear our veils; the Grove will be 
deserted at this hour and Salome can have a little 
change.” 

“Well, if thou must go ” said Binea, still un- 

certainly. 

Achsah laughed and kissed her. “Thou art too - 
troubled over little things. Now that our nation has 
fallen under the Romans’ power, what matters any 
lesser thing?” 

She gave her brother’s wife no time for further 
answer, but hastily sought out Salome, whom she 
soon attired for their walk. Then the two went out 
by a side door, and the Grove, with its thick trees, 
was quickly reached. This was a sort of public gar- 
den, and although kept by the Romans, was free of 
access to all. The Jews often went there, for the 
place was beautiful — before them stretched the sea 
of Galilee; to the south they could see the fertile 
plain of Gennesaret; back of them was the Junc- 
tion Fount, which they could dimly descry, mark- 
ing the meeting place of the four great roads which 
led to Arabia, Egypt, Tyre, and Damascus. 

Usually this place was thronged with merchants 
from all lands, who met there to traffic and to barter 
their goods. The heat, however, had driven all away, 
and the Fount, usually such a busy spot, was now 
silent and deserted. 

Salome threw herself upon the grass, and rested 
her head on Achsah’s lap. 

“See!” the child exclaimed “it is the month of Ab, 

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and those trees should be laden with ripe figs; in- 
stead, they are all parched and dried.” 

“The Romans will have then so much the less,” 
said Achsah bitterly. “They do wither up us Jews, 
even as the sun hath withered that tree.” 

“Thou dost hate the Romans, Aunt Achsah,” Sa- 
lome said, fondling her hand. “How came they to 
do us so much harm?” 

“The God of Abraham was angry with us, dearest 
star, and visited the sins of all our fathers upon 
us. Our God hath not yet forgiven us for going 
after foreign gods. So does he give the Romans 
power and might to humble us. Each year they 
give us greater burdens to bear, and save some King 
shall come to set us free, I know not what the end 
will be.” 

“It all is strange,” said Salome thoughtfully. “Why 
should the Romans injure us? We all are people 
just like them; but never mind. It makes thee look 
sad to talk of them. Art thou not glad we came? There 
is a cool breeze here, Aunt Achsah, and we seem 
to have the garden to ourselves.” 

“There is a cool breeze,” Achsah assented wonder- 
ingly ; “ ’tis strange we could not feel it in thy father’s 
house.” Then Achsah aroused her thoughts which 
seemed inclined that day to wander far, and told her 
little niece tales from her own brain, until at last the 
child, fanned by the cooler breeze, fell sound asleep, 
her first refreshing sleep for many days. 

Achsah sat still, not daring to move, looking out 
upon the sea of Galilee, and lost in her own medita- 
tions until a low exclamation of surprise caused her 
to glance up. 

There, looking down upon her in amazement, she 
saw the Roman officer, who had saluted her that very 
morning. 

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Salome’s head still rested in her lap, so that she 
could not move to rise without disturbing the child. 
With an angry frown she pulled her veil about her 
face, but ere she could determine what to say, the 
officer spoke. 

“I crave your pardon, maid, but in unusual times 
one must do unusual things. See ! a storm is coming 
and will be upon us soon. You were too engrossed 
to note it.” 

Achsah, with a little murmur of surprise, looked 
out across the sea and saw that a furious storm had 
surely gathered above Galilee’s blue waters. A few 
drops of rain fell even as she looked. 

The officer, with a hasty exclamation, stooped and 
lifted Salome into his arms, but so gently that the 
child never woke. 

“You cannot reach your home before the storm 
bursts,” he said decisively; “that is, if you dwell in 
the house of Jairus, where I saw you this morning. 
Do you abide there ?” he questioned with sharp direct- 
ness. 

“Yes,” she replied coldly. 

“HI take you to a fisherman’s hut, then, just out- 
side the Garden. Come, ’tis probably deserted, but 
’twill shelter you.” 

Achsah, feeling an impotent anger at her own help- 
lessness, hurried after him. For herself she cared 
nothing for the storm, but in Salome’s weak condi- 
tion, a sudden drenching might produce serious re- 
sults. 


9 


CHAPTER II. 


Just as the storm burst upon the earth, they reached 
the hut, and the Roman laid down his burden upon a 
little heap of sweet grasses piled in one corner. Then 
he turned to the older maiden. 

“I am truly sorry that there is no couch for thee 
to sit upon,” he said, courteously. “I would make 
thee more comfortable if I could.” 

She flushed beneath her veil. “For your goodness 
to the daughter of Jairus, I must accord you thanks,” 
she said distantly; “but I pray you say not ‘thou’ 
or ‘thee’ to me; ’tis only in our families we use those 
words.” 

“Then do I crave your pardon yet again,” the offi- 
cer said smilingly; “but my ignorance of all your 
customs should not be put down as my fault. You 
Jews do give us no opportunity to know aught of your 
ways. You treat us like the dust beneath your feet. 

Oh yes ” as Achsah made a faint exclamation; 

“you give us outward respect and reverence because 
we are Romans, and now are rulers of the world; 
yet ’tis plain to see that in your hearts you hate us; 
you accord us honor with contempt ; you sneer as we 
pass by; you make it plain that we are loathed by 
every one of you.” 

“What then?” she questioned coldly. “You have 
our gold; you control our tradesmen and our mer- 
chandise ; our commerce is in your hands ; we are 
weighted down with the heavy taxes imposed by your 
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unscrupulous officials. ’Tis true the emperor doth 
give us the right to worship in our synagogues, and 
in the temple at Jerusalem. He doth not interfere 
with our religion. Why ? Because, forsooth, he 
knows what our God has accomplished in the times 
gone past, for us. He fears Jehovah. What do you 
care for more than you have now? Do you expect 
the Jew to kiss the hand that humbles him? We are 
not dogs!” 

“No, and you take good care to push your defiance 
to the utmost limit that you dare. The emperor has 
borne much from you Jews, because you are a peculiar 
people. Then, you helped Caesar in the Alexandrine 
wars, and he rewarded you with many privileges that 
Antony and Dolabella confirmed in their consulate. 
These rights have the Jews received most strangely. 
They show our emperor scant courtesy ; they push the 
bounds of his forbearance to the utmost. I tell you, 
Rome will not long endure such arrogance.” 

“What will you do?” Achsah questioned scornfully. 

“The emperor will burn your holy city to the 
ground; he will scatter all you Hebrews through the 
world ; he will leave not one stone on another in all 
Jerusalem.” 

Achsah laughed contemptuously. “You talk to me 
like this, then wonder in the same breath that we do 
not welcome the Romans to our homes.” 

He flushed hotly. “I crave your pardon, maiden, 
still once more. I meant not to speak such things, 
but your very silence breathes forth such contempt 
and scorn for me and Rome, that I were less than man 
— or more — to hear it meekly. Will you not pardon 
me?” 

“ Tis of small moment ; what the Romans put upon 
us we must bear. We are helpless. Even I, perforce, 
accustomed to all the observances of the Jewish house- 

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hold — am standing here alone with you, a stranger 
and a Roman. The fault is mine, I came forth un- 
attended/’ 

A strange look came at those words into the Ro- 
man’s eyes. “If it be so great a sin to speak by chance 
unto a man whom you know not, then will I go forth 
this instant to the fort whither I was bound when I 
saw you. Shall I go?” 

“No,” she said hastily. “The storm is most ter- 
rible, and you would have been safely sheltered but 
for us.” 

“Then if I stay, forget just for a moment that I 
am a Roman. My name is Junius, and I am an officer 
of the emperor, and a distant relative as well. I 
have something to say to you concerning Jairus.” 

“What can you know of him?” she questioned 
haughtily. 

“Who can be in Capernaum and not know Jairus?” 
he returned. “What I learned, I learned by chance 
— no matter how. I have some friends among the 
Hebrews that would be more politic than you. They 
are not Jews, you say, then. Oh ! they hate me at 
the heart full as much as you, I make no doubt; 
but they seek to hide it. If they ever have a chance 
to slay me, that they will do, for all their smooth, 
fair words. Now they have told me much gossip of 
the town, and of the synagogue as well — so was it 
I did learn something that concerns you. Shall I 
tell it?” 

“As you will,” she said indifferently. 

He bit his lip angrily. “If that be your mind, there 
is no need for me to go on; you cannot even speak 
to me fairly, when I seek to do you service. This 
same day when I saw you on the roof garden and 
saluted you, I did it with as much reverence as I 
would had you been a goddess from the sky. But 
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you ! — you seemed to think my very look was pol- 
lution. You — are you the wife of Jairus?” 

“His sister,” she corrected curtly, then slowly 
added, “If there be aught concerning him which I 
should know, then tell me.” 

“You know not how to plead, I see,” he said with 
a smile; “you ask your favors with an air of large 
command. Yet, I believe that ere a year has passed, 
you will be a suppliant to me.” 

“Never!” she cried hotly, throwing back her veil in 
a moment of forgetfulness, and looking full at him 
with blazing eyes. “I — a suppliant to you ! You are 
beside yourself.” 

“Perhaps,” he answered quietly, gazing full upon 
her glowing face, “yet do I think that I am right; 
and know this now — whatever favor you do ask of 
me, that shall be granted, I swear it by the temple of 
Jupiter Ammon.” 

“You should not swear at all,” she quickly inter- 
posed. “It is very wrong. Why should I ask aught 
of you? You are distraught.” 

“With the madness of Venus, then,” the Roman 
muttered low, but although Achsah heard, she did 
not comprehend, and he, with momentary wisdom, 
did not explain his ejaculation. “Last night, when 
the name of Jairus was mentioned in the gossip, I 
gave it no heed ; what, in good sooth, was Jairus or 
any Jew to me? But when I saw you, I fain would 
have told you all, for you love Jairus, and I would 
keep grief from your eyes, if so I could.” 

“Such talk is not for the ears of Jewish women,” 
she answered. “ Tis thus I presume you talk to 
every woman at your capital; but I tell you, we are 
made in other mold. Now, if you have truly any- 
thing to say, declare it.” 

“Fll tell you of your brother — but of myself just 
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one word first. Never to any maiden in Rome or any 
land, have I spoken as I did just speak to you. If 
I can win you for my wife — Hush ! — that will I do. 
But if you come not to me willingly with all your 
scorn and cold contempt put underneath your foot — 
then would I not take you to wife for all the dowry 
that a Croesus might bestow. That is all. I love you. 
I loved you when my eyes first fell on you to-day, 
and Venus herself must smile upon my suit.” 

“Now if you do not hush,” she broke in angrily, 
“HI awaken Salome and go forth in the storm ; 
stay here and listen to your talk, I will not. You are 
drunk with wine.” 

“That is not true, fair maid, but let it pass. Venus 
will fight for me, and you will not forget my words. 
Remember they were from my heart of hearts. Of 
Jairus, this is what I learned. And you will do well 
to take earnest heed to what I say, if you really love 
him.” 


14 


CHAPTER III. 


“Know first, sister of Jairus, that out of contempt 
for the man who servilely seeks my favor thus, even 
while he sneers at me in his heart, I did fill him 
full the last time that he came — with Roman wine. 
So, as he never had tasted it before it did loose his 
tongue and he told me things that now he does not 
remember that he said ; for he was drunk. Thus was 
it, that instead of telling to me the merest gossip, as 
his custom is, he told me graver things ; some of them 
do relate to rebellion against the emperor — these can 
I crush myself. But he also made it plain that Jairus 
is much feared and envied by many of the Jews. You 
know well that the Hebrews of Capernaum are poor; 
Jairus alone does seem to prosper somewhat. For 
this they hate him ; they hate him, too, because he is a 
ruler in the synagogue. So some who have a fan- 
cied grievance against him plan to waylay him when 
next he journeys to Jerusalem.” 

Achsah’s veil once more was cast aside, and her 
great eyes searched deep the face of Junius as if 
she would peer down to his very soul, and see if truth 
were written there. 

“How can I tell if all your tale be true?” she cried 
at last. “If it be true, then tell the politarchs ; that is 
your duty. Why should a Jew conspire against 
Jairus? Is he not the greatest of them all? The 
noblest and the best?” 

“That all may be, even as you say, fair maid. But 
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in his goodness and his prosperity lie the root of this 
jealousy. Men do not envy their equals or inferiors; 
’tis their superiors alone that stir them up to rancor- 
ous hatred.” 

“Tell me,” the maiden cried imperiously, “who told 
you all this tale?” 

“I told you that it was no matter how the plot 
came unto my ears, and I cannot tell you the name 
of this man. The emperor is very strict in his com- 
mands that we be not mixed up in your religious 
broils. I have told you more than I did mean to tell, 
that you might know how I gained such knowledge — 
I, a Roman! I have told you more than prudence 
dictates, that you might be assured of my truth, and 
also,” he said in a low tone, “that you might know 
how I do trust you. The man’s name must I not 
tell for many reasons; it might defeat some plans of 
mine did I do so.” 

“Then we are helpless, and I know not what to’ 
think. If I tell Jairus this story, with no proofs or 
names, he will either laugh it all to scorn or else 
regard, perhaps, his truest friend as a secret foe. 
Your tale is but a phantom of the brain.” 

“You shall yet beg my forgiveness for those most 
unjust words,” he flashed back hotly. “I seek to 
serve you in your own despite, but I must still main- 
tain my honor inviolate and respect my emperor’s 
commands. Tell this to Jairus, but mention no word 
of all our talk to any other. Jairus will know what 
tradesmen feel aggrieved with him ; what ones do 
seek his company to Jerusalem; they plan, I take it, 
to murder him upon the road to Jerusalem, and then 
give out that they did fall’ among thieves, and that 
so it was your brother lost his life. What noble 
Jews dwell in your midst!” he added mockingly: “I 
presume they go to your synagogue, and make long 
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prayers upon the street corners. I know this man 
doth. I have heard him !” 

“Nay,” the girl cried angrily, “we are not hypo- 
crites; no Jew would stain his hands with a brother’s 
blood. That is murder. Jehovah doth forbid it. 
For that crime was not Cain cursed by all mankind 
and forced to live a wanderer upon the face of the 
earth ?” 

“And would you trust every Jew you know in 
Capernaum, with your honor and your brother’s life ?” 

“I am a maid,” she coldly said. “Until we put on 
the married raiment, we know not many men outside 
of our own households ; so, in Capernaum there be 
many Jews I do not know; yet they are Jews, and 
subject to the law of Moses. They strive to live ac- 
cording to the doctrines of the law ; so are they worthy 
of my confidence. Of those whom I have talked with 
there is not one who would be guilty of such a deed 
as you have named. I would trust them utterly, every 

one ” then a sudden flash of recollection sweeping 

over her, she added truthfully, “There is one alone, 
whom I dislike, but the fault doth doubtless lie with 
me. He is Lamech, the son of Zerubbabel.” 

A subtle change on the face of Junius caught the 
quick eye of Achsah. 

“Now did you speak of him — of Lamech?” 

“What matter of whom I spoke?” the Roman ques- 
tioned coldly ; “you do not believe me. Had any man 
so set my word at naught, he would not now be liv- 
ing; because you are a woman, a Jewess, and the 
maiden whom I love, you know full well that you can 
heap insults on my head, and that I am powerless to 
defend myself. I seek but to serve you; yet you 
spurn me like a dog.” 

Achsah looked at him, hearing, but until later, not 
comprehending his words. 

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“So it was Lamech. I must believe your tale. 
Jairus will know well how to defend himself when 
I have told him all. Lamech! strange things have 
oftentimes been said of him, but there has never 
been aught proved against him that I know. I crave 
your pardon for my doubts, good Roman,” she added 
with an effort : “why you should thus seek to serve 
me, I know not, but I do thank you. My words to- 
day are weak, but Jairus shall voice our gratitude 
himself.” 

“I want no thanks, save yours,” the Roman re- 
turned firmly. “Why I seek to serve you — I have 
said. I thought at first you were the wife of Jairus 
and then ” 

“Nay,” she interrupted quickly, “ ’tis plain that 
you know not much of all our ways. My garments 
are those of a maid — not of a wife or of a widow. 
Now the storm hath ceased for a space; will you 
not go on to the fort? A servant will come and 
find us here, and I would rather you were gone.” 

“Then I will go, although I fain would stay; but 
from a distance I shall keep a watch on you. If your 
servant comes not soon, then will I send some trusty 
fisherman to carry the young child unto your home 
See me again you shall, though how or when, I know 
not. The Jewess maid shall be the Roman’s wife!” 

“You do presume too far,” she said sternly, “be- 
cause you have done me some service this day, is no 
reason why you should use such words. Go!” 

With one last look that strove to penetrate her veil, 
he bowed and left. 

When he had surely gone, the maiden placed her- 
self within the doorway and looked eagerly around. 
Ere long she descried the figure of Adoniram com- 
ing toward her, and she called his name eagerly. 

“Oh, thou art safe and dry,” Adoniram cried joy- 
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fully. “We did fear for thee, and the wife af Jairus 
is half distraught. Where is the child?” 

“In here, Adoniram, asleep and safe; not a drop of 
rain hath fallen on her. Canst thou carry her in thy 
arms? Her sandals do but poorly shield her feet, 
and I would not break her slumber unless we must.” 

“Yea, mistress, I can carry her with ease; though 
she is eleven years, she is in weight no more than 
many a child of six. This sleep will do her good.” 

Then the servitor, with greatest care, lifted Salome, 
and with Achsah by his side, hastened back to the 
abode of Jairus. 

Binea, watching anxiously, turned pale with fear 
when she saw them approach, for she thought that 
some terrible accident must have befallen the child of 
her love. Before she could speak, however, Achsah 
held up a warning finger. 

“Hush, Binea! Salome is well and sleeping; we 
were safe within a fisherman’s hut before the storm 
broke. Adoniram will carry Salome to her room.” 

“Now the God of Abraham be praised!” ejacu- 
lated Binea softly ; and speeding rapidly up the stairs 
she entered her child’s room, and from a corner 
brought forth the mattress or “bed” which, during 
the day, was always rolled up. With Achsah’s help 
she deftly placed it in a cool corner of the room, and 
Adoniram kneeling down slid Salome upon it. The 
child moved restlessly, but did not waken, and all 
three of the older persons stole softly from the room. 

“I am relieved to see thee,” Binea cried, grasping 
Achsah’s arm tightly. “I am never at ease if the 
child is out of my sight, though I do know well how 
thou dost love her. She took no hurt to-day, you 
think? I have been chiding myself severely for al- 
lowing her to go.” 

“Dear Binea,” Achsah said tenderly, “thou art 
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a c b 9 a t> 

weighed down with care. It must be the mother- 
heart in thee that will not suffer thee to rest. A 
mother is fearful always. If her child is somewhat ill, 
she imagines that the sickness is unto death; if the 
child be well she imagines all calamities to come. 
Motherhood is a most awful thing. You go to find 
your babe within the grasp of death, and all your life 
that dreadful shadow clings around you. For to- 
day you can be at ease; you have great cause to 
praise the God of Abraham that Salome and I went 
forth. The child is all the better for the walk, and 
— where is Jairus?” 

“He is in the day-room ; the priest hath given 
him some scrolls to read, ‘The Song of the Three 
Children,’ and ‘The Prayer of Manasses,’ they are 
called. Some of the priests do hold, so Jairus said, 
that they were inspired by Jehovah himself. I would 
not go to Jairus now ; thou wilt interrupt his re- 
searches.” 

“Then must his work wait till another time,” the 
maiden returned impatiently, and ere Binea could 
protest further she hurriedly left the room. 




V 


20 


CHAPTER IV. 


Jairus was seated on a couch, bending intently 
over a scroll. One could tell at a glance that he was 
a Hebrew of the Hebrews; his long, loose robe fell 
in rich folds on the floor, confined by the leathern 
girdle about the waist, and a loose velvet jacket, 
heavily embroidered. On the couch beside him lay his 
kaffieh and the coat of fine lamb’s wool ordered by 
the Law to be worn by every male Israelite to re- 
mind him of his duties. At each corner were fringes, 
symbolizing the enactments of the Law, and a hem 
of blue, representing the holiness of God’s people. 
It was the coat of Jairus by day; his covering at 
night, and some time it would be his shroud. Achsah 
looked at it thoughtfully. It meant so much to her, 
but to others — to the Roman Junius for instance — it 
would be no symbol, merely a subject for mockery. 
The thought of Junius roused her to the task before 
her. 

“Jairus t” 

The ruler started from his thoughts and looked up 
with a pleasant smile. 

“Thou art welcome, Achsah! Is all well with thee? 
Thou art looking very serious.” 

“All is very well with me, Jairus, but I would 
see thee for a few moments. Did Binea tell thee 
that Salome and I went but now to the Grove?” 

“She said naught of it,” Jairus returned gravely. 

“I guessed as much; yet it is well I went; now 
21 


acftsat) 

listen, brother!” and thereupon the maiden told him 
all, save the words of love which Junius had spoken. 

The face of Jairus changed as she proceeded, and 
he listened intently. When she had paused he said 
no word for a few moments, then he looked at her 
tenderly. 

“I like not for thee to go forth without a servant, 
Achsah. I have tried since our parents died long 
since to be both father and mother unto thee, since 
I was all thou didst have left. I grieve that now I 
cannot do for thee as I would. It is not right to keep 
thee so confined. Thou shouldst have a servant to 
wait upon thee constantly.” 

“ ’Tis well, perhaps, I had not this day,” the girl 
cried hastily. “What matters aught of me? Thou 
doest for me to the limit of thy power — what more 
can any one? Let it pass. Tell me of this tale; dost 
thou believe it?” 

“It bears the imprint of truth,” the ruler said 
slowly. “I know this Junius somewhat ; he hath been 
but lately sent from Rome, and knows not yet much 
of all our customs. I have met him in my capacity 
as judge, and he seems to me both honorable and 
fair.” 

“Yet he is a Roman,” the girl said bitterly. 

“My child,” Jairus said sadly, “the Romans are 
not our worst enemies ; though I do hate Rome as 
well as thou, yet must we remember that if the Jews 
had not sinned against the God of Israel and done 
evil in His sight, Rome could never have vanquished 
us.” 

“That may be true, yet it makes the Roman yoke 
no easier to bear. And so you trust this tale! Why 
should Lamech hate thee so ?” 

“For many things, my sister. His is a low and 
petty nature. I have detected him in underhanded 
22 


9 c ft 0 a ft 

tricks with foreign tradesmen, and have forced him 
to make restitution; he does envy me my home, my 

place in the synagogue, and ” Jairus paused and 

looked at Achsah, but the words in his heart re- 
mained unspoken then. “There are many reasons, you 
see, why he bears me no good will ; more even than I 
have told thee. One thing there is which I can de- 
clare to you. It concerns the Nazarene. He hath 
been often in Capernaum, though thou hast not seen 
him, Achsah. Next time he comes I would that he 
would enter into my house.” 

“Jairus,” the girl cried sharply, “thou dost not 
credit these wild claims which some are making now 
for him.” 

“I know not, Achsah,” Jairus said gravely; “he 
makes no claims as yet for himself, but recall the 
stories of his birth; of his visit to the temple as a 
boy; 'tis but a year since he first came here. He did 
no wonders on that first visit, but remember all that 
thou hast since heard. He came here and taught and 
called to him, Andrew and Peter and James and John. 
Then he cast out a devil ; he healed Peter's mother- 
in-law; he passed among crowds of the sick and dis- 
eased and healed them all. I saw it done. Men that 
I have known from boyhood up to have been afflicted 
with some terrible malady, were healed by his mere 
word or touch.” 

“And thou didst see it, Jairus?” she asked won- 
deringly. “Thou hast said but little on the subject.” 

“Because my mind is not yet clear as to who he is. 
I fear to say too much or too little. He has been 
here since he did those wonders of which I just spoke. 
He came and healed a palsied man; he called Mat- 
thew. I heard him talk as never I -heard man talk 
before. He hath been here still again; he healed a 
withered hand; he ordained his apostles; he healed 

23 


3 c & g a b 

the centurion’s servant, and he has preached here 
many marvelous things. Who is he?” 

“Is he not a prophet, Jairus? That is what I hear 
many declare.” 

“He is a prophet — or greater! Whatever or who- 
ever he be, Lamech hates him. It may be perchance 
because the evil always hates the good. But this 
Nazarene hath come to be a cause of dissension in the 
synagogue. The priests do hate and fear him ; nor 
can I wonder, for he doth scourge them with his 
words as with a lash.” 

“Yet thou dost deem him worthy of honor, still?” 
Achsah cried aghast. 

“Child, the priests are men, and as a ruler in the 
synagogue I see strange practices. The priests have 
fallen into corrupt ways and merit the rebukes they 
get. Yet, let this pass. I meant not to speak of 
this until in my own mind ’twas clear whether the 

Nazarene be a prophet merely or ” he paused as if 

afraid to go further. 

“Or?” she queried breathlessly. 

“Or God, himself, my sister!” he ended reverently: 
“this is my thought. Can any man perform these 
marvels save God be in him ? Because I do not 
curse the Nazarene, the priests begin to look askance 
at me, for they do claim that his power comes from 
the Evil One. I see the plot in full. The priests wish 
not their power abridged, so they fear the Nazarene 
and all who hold with him. Lamech, doubtless, sees 
their thoughts and turns their desires to his own pur- 
poses. He is a craven Jew. He fears and hates me, 
for I will not permit his thieving tricks while I am 
ruler in the synagogue and so, a judge also in Caper- 
naum. I owe my thanks to Junius, the Roman ; he 
must be freed from all connection with my knowledge 
of this plot, but I will see him this night and betwixt 

24 


a c b 0 a b 

us we may contrive some plan that shall entrap the 
plotters, and not connect his name therewith. Thou 
owest him thanks for thy brother’s life, Achsah,” 
he ended seriously. 

The maiden flushed, but no reply rose to her lips. 
It was no easy thing to feel so great a weight of 
obligation to a hated Roman. 

Binea entering then, summoned them to the evening 
meal. In the house of Jairus, the large table was 
always set, that any guests or wayfarers might have 
instant hospitality. The table in three portions formed 
three sides of a square ; on the outer edge were placed 
the cushioned divans, and the Hebrews, while scorn- 
ing everything Roman, had yet adopted their custom 
of half-reclining on these divans, and resting them- 
selves upon the left arm. To-night no guest was 
present and Jairus being unwontedly silent, neither 
Binea nor Achsah ventured many words. Inside the 
tables the servants moved noiselessly about, but the 
food they brought was barely tasted. 

Upstairs Salome still slept. Achsah felt relieved 
when Jairus at length ordered the food removed 
and rose to leave the room. 

“Thou art not going from the house?” Binea ques- 
tioned half reproachfully as Jairus picked up his silk 
kaffleh and adjusted it upon his head. 

“I must,” he answered briefly, stooping to fasten 
his sandals more securely, and Binea, according to 
her wont, said nothing further. 

As Jairus reached the threshold of his house he 
looked back a moment. “You women had best remain 
upstairs ; I may bring here a Roman that it is neces- 
sary I should see upon important matters.” 

With that he left, and his wife and sister meekly 
obeyed his words and sought the upper apartments. 

Achsah heard her brother return a short hour 
25 


a c & 0 a t> 

later, and caught the sound of another voice, which 
she knew to be that of Junius. The murmuring sound 
reached them for a long time, and Achsah heard 
impatiently her sister-in-law’s exclamations of won- 
der over the presence of a Roman within the house 
of Jairus. 

Later on, Salome woke, and Achsah passing down 
the stairs to get some fruit for the child, almost 
encountered the Roman leaving. She drew back hast- 
ily within the curtains of a doorway near at hand, 
but not until the eyes of Junius had met hers in a 
quick flash that seemed to her heated brain to speak 
of certain triumph over her and hers. 

Jairus, too, had seen her, and when he had followed 
his guest to the door, and cried again, “Peace be to 
you,” he called his sister. 

“I did not think that I should meet him,” she mur- 
mured contritely. “Forgive me, Jairus; of late I 
seem to do all things wrongly.” 

“ ’Tis of no moment,” Jairus returned half absently, 
and then Achsah perceived the gravity of his ex- 
pression. 

“Canst thou not hit upon any plan to circumvent 
this Lamech, and entangle him in his own net?” she 
asked anxiously. 

“That was easily done. Would that were all! O 
Achsah ! Achsah ! the Roman has told me bitter things ! 
I fear the God of Abraham will punish us still fur- 
ther.” 


26 


CHAPTER V. 


“Thou dost frighten me, Jairus,” she cried, clutching 
his arm in terror, “what dost thou mean ?” 

“I mean that the priests are laying deep plans 
against the Nazarene.” Jairus answered with a heavy 
groan; “the priests and the rulers of Jerusalem are 
in the plot as well. They hate the Man. They have 
tried again and again to entrap him in some argu- 
ment, but always he turns the trap to capture them. 
So now they plan to seize him. Why can they not 
wait in peace ?” the Jew cried, pacing restlessly back 
and forth; “if he be but a vile impostor and no 
prophet even — as they all declare — then must time 
surely prove it ; if he be more — as I do almost think — 
time will prove that, too.” 

“And did you learn of this from the Roman also?” 

“Yea ; the Roman wine did make Lamech free with 
his tongue and he told all he knew or planned. Twas 
a good scheme to try for once, but Junius will not 
dare to try it often. Oh, the Nazarene! the Naza- 
rene! why do they force me thus with all their plots 
and underhanded plans, to declare myself before I 
even know mine own heart?” 

“If he be truly prophet,” Achsah returned quickly, 
“all their plottings against him will not avail. But 
thou art no prophet — only an upright man, whom a 
cowardly knave may slay — and thus break Binea’s 
heart arc! mine.” 

Jairus smiled. “Be at peace, my sister; all is well 
arranged. I shall go forth to Jerusalem on the third 
27 


acftsaf) 

day from now, as ’twas first proposed, on business 
for the synagogue. But I shall be on my guard, for 
I am warned. Moreover, I shall go armed. Nor is 
that all. The Roman goeth, too, with certain officers, 
not in company with me — but some time previously. 
If possible he will learn from Lamech to-night, by 
means of more Roman wine, where the attack will be 
made. Then, with his men he will wait there con- 
cealed, and when they rush on me he will hurry to my 
aid as if by accident. It is his plan and it seems good, 
for he will see the miscreants, and as it will be a civil 
and not a religious misdemeanor, he can act with all 
authority/’ 

“Oh, Jairus, do not go,” she broke forth suddenly, 
with a rush of tears ; “thou art trusting thy life in his 
hands — and he a stranger and a Roman! Stay here! 
Go not to Jerusalem.” 

“Listen, my sister,” he said gravely. “I must go, 
for I have passed my word. Besides, if I remained 
at home the danger would still menace me. I should 
live in constant dread. I must meet and crush this 
plot ; thus only can I be secure. What if the Roman 
fail me, though I stake my life that he will not. Am 
I not a Jew, able to defend myself?” 

But Achsah only wept anew. 

“Say no word of all this to Binea,” Jairus com- 
menced abruptly. “I will not have her anxious for 
me now when her heart is so full of care for Salome. 
If all ends happily, I will tell her; till then, say noth- 
ing. Dost thou understand?” 

“Yea, brother.” 

“Then dry your eyes, or she will surely suspect that 
something goes amiss. The Roman urged me to 

tell thee but I will let that wait also,” and Jairus 

turned away, so that Achsah could do naught but gaze 
after him in amaze. 


28 


acfcsa!) 

For the next two days the Roman was much at 
the house of Jairus. Though neither of the women 
saw him, they heard his voice, and even Binea grew 
to know it well, while she marveled much at his con- 
stant presence. As for Achsah, she lived in a dream 
of terror that left her not even when she slept. A 
thousand times she saw the image of her brother, 
ghastly in death. Her pleadings he ignored, with 
scarce a word of reply, and now on the morrow he 
would set forth. That night the Roman would secretly 
set out, and Achsah put aside all maidenly reserve 
and all conventionalities, determined to speak once to 
him ere he left, and try to assure herself of his 
probity. 

It was barely dusk when Achsah heard him, from 
her station in an inner room, exchange parting salu- 
tations with Jairus. Wrapping her veil quickly about 
her, she sped into the court, then out through the 
wicket gate, underneath the house. Thus she knew 
that she could intercept the Roman on his way to 
the fort. 

As she opened the gate and stood listening breath- 
lessly, she caught the sharp ring of his footfalls, 
and a moment later he had halted at her side with an 
exclamation of surprise. 

“Is it you, Achsah ?” he queried. “You see, I 
have learned your name from Jairus; by so much am 
I richer than I was. What do you seek here alone 
at this hour?” 

“I was watching for you,” she said in a low tone 
and noting, even through her veil, the triumphant 
gleam that shot out from the Roman’s eyes; “what 
care I for customs or usages when the life of Jairus 
is in jeopardy? Come over by the fountain,” she 
added imperiously. 

Silently Junius followed her, a slight smile curving 
29 


3 c 6 0 a & 

his lips. When the fountain was reached at length 
the maiden turned herself about, and throwing back 
her veil, peered as intently into the Roman’s face as 
the gathering darkness would permit. 

“I want to assure myself, if so be I can,” she said 
harshly, “that you are a man of some honor, though 
a Roman ! My brother goes forth to-morrow to 
Jerusalem. He relies upon your aid; are you leading 
him on to death?” 

“By Jupiter, no !” the Roman cried hotly.. “Is not 
my honor at issue? If harm should befall him could 
I ever look at you again? You say the life of Jairus 
may be at stake. Well, so be it; yet what is dearer 
even than life to me, shall be bond for his safe re- 
turn. I pledge you my word, no harm shall happen 
to him. Am I not going forth now, not on business 
for the emperor as I do make pretense, but merely 
to succor Jairus?” 

“I must believe you,” she said with a sigh, “for all 
your thought, I thank you. For any seeming cold- 
ness, pardon me. I can think of naught but this hor-i 
rible plot. If you all return safe I can better voice 
my thanks. Peace go with you, and so we part.” 

“One moment,” the officer cried eagerly. “I told 
you that I loved you, from the moment when I first 
beheld you on that roof; you mocked my words. Do 
not think that I am like some of my countrymen. I 
was brought up by my father strictly, and of the 
licentiousness of the Roman capital, of which you may 
have heard, I know nothing. I swear it. I bring to 
you a life as pure as yours. No — hear me — perchance 
the gods intend that I, not Jairus, shall fall to-mor- 
row. This once let me speak.” 

“To what good ?” the maiden coldly said. “I love 
you not; I hate your country; yet, bear this in mind, 
for it is true: If I did love you with all my heart and 
30 


3 c b 0 a ft 

strength, yet could we never wed. I am a Jewess — 
you a Roman. You believe in heathen gods; I wor- 
ship the God of Abraham. We are as far asunder as 
the east and west. Say no more of this.” 

Junius turned pale beneath the words that dropped, 
clear-cut, from her proud lips. “I am not a child to 
be turned from my purpose,” he answered resolutely. 
“You shall yet be mine — and gladly, too. But this 
can wait, now that you know my heart. I wish to 
speak to you of Lamech. He is a Jew ; of your re- 
ligion ; he attends your synagogue. Would you wed 
with him?” 

“How dare you so insult me?” she cried passion- 
ately. “You have made me repent a score of times 
already that I so far transgressed a maiden’s customs 
as to seek you this night. I shall leave you here.” 

“Not yet,” he cried, holding her arm in a firm grasp. 
“ ’Twas not I who insulted you. Lamech long since 
approached Jairus and wished to negotiate with him 
for your espousal. Nay,” as Achsah gave utterance 
to an exclamation of contempt, “I speak the truth. 
Jairus knew Lamech at the time full well, and sent 
off Lamech’s friends with curt refusal when they 
sought him often for your hand. Jairus told me this, 
and I did urge that you should know it, too, for your 
own self-defense. Jairus thought differently, but he 
had pledged his word to me that on our return 
from Jerusalem he would tell you all. But 
I thought it best to tell you now, since the opportunity 
has come. You are another cause to urge Lamech 
on to revenge — and — I fear — I know not what”; he 
murmured the last words low, but Achsah caught 
them. 

“You fear — for whom? Do we not know all the 
plot?” 

“All as regards Jairus. But against you, I fear 
31 


3 c 6 s a b 

they plan some evil that I have not penetrated as 
yet. Promise me that you will not leave the house 
of Jairus till we return.” 

She hesitated a brief moment, then she said : “Such 
pledge is needless; still, I pass my word, if it will 
please you. Perchance I owe you more than I do 
think. Now go, and the Lord prosper you.” Then 
before the Roman could speak, Achsah sped swiftly to 
the house, and left him gazing after her in deepest 
thought. 


32 


CHAPTER VI. 


The hours went by on leaden wings. Achsah felt 
a weight upon her spirits. Should she ever see her 
brother again? Each day as she awoke she won- 
dered if news would come before night-fall. On the 
evening of the third day, she espied Adoniram, who 
had accompanied his master. Binea was in the upper 
room with Salome, and Achsah hurried to the court 
to greet their faithful servant. 

“How art thou come, Adoniram ?” she cried 
anxiously. “Is thy master well? What hath be- 
fallen thee?” 

“My master is well,” Adoniram replied with a 
low salute. “But he feared you might hear that he 
was attacked by ruffians on the road, and so while 
he went forward to Jerusalem, he sent me back with 
words qA reassurance unto you. He is safe and all 
unharmed, and he has gone on to Jerusalem under 
the escort of a Roman officer who haply came to our 
assistance. They will return together.” 

So all the story had b^n true, and Junius, in truth, 
had saved her brother’s me ! Well — she would thank 
him some day, thougl^ he were a Roman. 

“Where are the prisoners, Adoniram?” she asked; 
“or perchance the ruffians were not captured?” 

“Yes, they were taken by the Romans, mistress; 
all — that is, save one — Lamech. He escaped into the 
woods after wounding Junius, the Roman officer, in 
the arm. The soldiers will soon be scouring all the 
country for him. He will find it no slight thing to 

33 


9 c J) 0 a i) 

wound an officer of the emperor. His escort escaped 
unscathed and are taking their prisoners on to Jeru- 
salem for trial. Jairus will be detained there — it may 
be — for a week.” 

“Am I to tell all this to thy mistress, Adoniram?” 

“My master ordered not, unless she should hear 
some rumor of it elsewhere. Thou canst say that I 
returned to fulfill my duties here at home, as he fell 
in with a party of friends and so did not need my 
escort.” 

“Very well,” said Achsah, and so it was arranged. 
The load was lifted from her heart, but still she longed 
most intensely for the return of Jairus. Her promise 
to the Roman kept her confined to the house more 
closely than usual, but although she pined under the 
imprisonment, she would not break her word. 

Thus more than three weeks sped dully and mo- 
notonously along, and the time dragged heavily for 
all, even for Salome, who seemed with each suceed- 
ing day to grow more weak and languid. One even- 
ing, as Achsah and Binea sat in a lower room, the 
outer door opened suddenly, and as quickly closed 
again. 

“There is my father,” cried Salome gladly; and it 
truly was, for the next moment Jairus had entered and 
clasped wife and child in his arms. Achsah’s quick 
eyes caught the outline of another figure halting ir- 
resolutely in the half-gloom beyond the rays of the 
earthenware lamp, that stood on a low pedestal near 
her. 

The Roman, seeing that he was observed, came for- 
ward half reluctantly. “It was not by my wish that 
I have intruded on you to-night. Jairus would have 
it so, against my protests.” 

Jairus caught the words, and loosed his hold on 
Binea to take his sister in his arms. 

34 


a c ft $ a b 

“Yes, I did bring him against all of his excuses. 
I would have my wife, my sister, and my child see the 
man to whom they owe my safety and my life.” 

A horrified exclamation burst from Binea’s lips. 
“It is so, indeed, wife,” he said tenderly. “Prithee, 
order the servants to set forth some food ; our guest 
will eat with me, and afterwards we will seek you 
here, and relate all that transpired while we were gone. 
I am safe and well, rest now content with that.” 

As Binea hurried meekly from the room in obedi- 
ence to the word of Jairus, Salome threw her hands 
about her father’s neck and drew him to the couch 
beside her. While Jairus was listening to the child’s 
chatter, Achsah said in a low voice to the Roman : 
“This house doth owe you more than it can ever re- 
pay — we cannot thank you as we would ” 

“I pray you cease,” Junius interposed harshly. “I 
tried to stay away to-night because I wish no duty- 
gratitude — at least from you. But Jairus would take 
no refusal, and how could I resist the chance of see- 
ing you?” 

“You must not speak thus. You make me seem 
cold and ungrateful, to you to whom we freely ac- 
knowledge our deep debt. Yet, to such words I can- 
not listen. Tell me of Lamech; hath he been cap- 
tured ?” 

“No. He is still at large, but taken he soon must 
be. I would rather have lost all our other six pris- 
oners than him. I hear that he has been seen lurk- 
ing in the neighborhood of Gennesaret. You have kept 
your pledge to me,” he asked searchingly, “and have 
not gone forth?” 

“I have kept it,” with a faint smile. “Did I not 
promise? But your return absolves me; of that am 
I most glad, for both Salome and I have felt the 

35 


9 c f) $ a t) 

need of fresher air. Tell me of your hurt,” she added 
abruptly; “was it very painful?” 

“And dost thou care if it were ?” he asked softly. 

“You know I do,” she replied, making an effort to 
speak with her usual coldness. 

Something in his look and tone drew the color to 
the maiden’s cheeks, and she quickly wrapped her 
veil about her face, for till then it had been thrown 
back from the cap, according to the custom of the 
Jewish women when in their homes, and by them- 
selves. When Jairus and the Roman entered so sud- 
denly Achsah forgot, in the excitement of the mo- 
ment, that Junius was gazing unrebuked upon her 
features. 

He smiled at her movement, and murmured: “You 
cannot hide your features from me, love, for I know 
them all, and in my heart I see them continually.” 

Achsah turned away angrily. What sort of man 
was this, with whom neither her protests nor her 
scorn nor her coldness availed aught? 

Jairus looked up as she approached his side, a 
troubled, worn expression on his face. “Salome 
seems not so well to me, as when I left, Achsah.” 

“She hath grieved for thee,” Achsah returned with 
an effort to speak cheerfully. “She will be better 
now thou art returned.” 

“I would the Nazarene might see her. Junius and 
I heard most wondrous things of him in Jerusalem. 
The priests there hate him even as they do here, but 
only because he doth expose their wickedness. I 
saw men who told most marvelous deeds that they had 
witnessed.” 

“Yea,” the Roman said thoughtfully, “it is all very 
strange to me. I must see this prophet soon. I can- 
not understand why your priests and teachers should 
36 


a c & s a ft 

so denounce and hate him. We saw one man, fair 
Jewess,” he went on, addressing himself to Achsah, 
“who declared that he had had an infirmity for eight 
and thirty years, and that while he lay by the pool 
of Bethesda Jesus came, and bade him rise, take up his 
bed and walk. Immediately, then, he said, that he 
was made whole.” 

“Yes,” Jairus added bitterly, “and many of the 
priests made excuse that as the wonder was done on 
a Sabbath day, it was an evil deed, and so they sought 
to slay him.” 

A silence fell upon them all, and no one spoke until 
presently Binea returned, and at her summons Jairus 
and the Roman passed on to their meal. 

When the story was told later on, of all the dangers 
Jairus had undergone, Achsah sat silently on the 
couch by Salome’s side and spoke no word; her veil 
was heavily folded across her face, but the Roman 
noted with surprise that she, as well as Binea, was 
arrayed in his honor in finest raiments. The maiden, 
in truth, wore a profuse quantity of gold and silver 
ornaments with charms, bracelets, anklets, chains, 
brooches, and a large medallion binding down the veil 
upon her forehead. 

The Roman looked at her almost impatiently. Here 
in the home of her fathers she seemed further re- 
moved from him than ever before. For the first time 
he comprehended how deep the chasm was that sepa- 
rated her from him. “She will never worship my 
gods, nor can I worship her Jehovah,” he said to him- 
self at length. “My dream is but sheer madness. I 
will return to Rome and forget her, if Venus grants 
me the power.” 

Binea’s gratitude to the Roman knew no bounds 
when at length she heard in full all that Juifius had 
done. Her eager words, and those of Salome cov- 

37 


a c ft s a ft 

ered the silence of Achsah, for she had resolved to 
speak no further word to the Roman on any pretext, 
though at her brother’s command she had put on 
her costliest garments. 

When the Roman took his leave, Jairus held his 
hand in a close grasp. “You are a Roman, I a He- 
brew ; you worship heathen gods ; I, the God of Abra- 
ham. Still thou art a true and honorable man, and 
I pray thee, wear this signet ring as a pledge ’twixt 
us of friendship. If I can ever recompense thee, I 
shall; but such debts are seldom paid.” 

For many days thereafter the wife of Jairus could 
talk of nothing but her husband’s marvelous escape 
from death, and the treachery of Lamech. The wretch 
was still at large, though officers of the law were in 
close pursuit of him. Of Junius, the Roman, the 
household of Jairus saw no more, though the ruler 
met him almost daily. Matters soon resumed their 
wonted course, though it became well known through- 
out Capernaum, and even in Jerusalem, that Jairus 
stood high in favor with the Romans. The priests 
dared show no more hostility against him, and they 
even became almost servile in their homage. 

If Achsah’s thoughts turned often to the hand- 
some, powerful Roman, it was only, she told herself, 
because she had so little else of which to think. As 
the days drifted by, however, she felt a darker shadow 
creeping over their home. The wise men learned in 
medicine came daily to the house of Jairus, but they' 
were powerless to check the insidious disease which 
sapped all of Salome’s strength. “She has no vigor,” 
they said ; “she has never been strong. There is no 
special disease for us to check; she needs life put 
into her, and only the God of Abraham may do that.” 

38 


a c ft $ a I) 

Yet there were days when the child felt more like 
her former self, and then Achsah took heart again. 
Salome had been looking forward for some little 
time to the celebration of the twelfth anniversary of 
her birth. In the afternoon Jairus had promised her 
a feast of all manner of eastern fruits and dainties, 
and the young girls of her age were coming to join 
in the festivities. 

Salome was full of happy excitement, and Binea 
looking at her sparkling eyes and flushed cheeks, felt 
a sudden load lifted from her heart. “I am over- 
anxious, as Achsah declares/’ she told herself. “The 
child is not so very ill.” 

Ere the morning had advanced far Salome sought 
her aunt. 

“Aunt Achsah, take me to the Grove,” she begged. 
“We have not been there since the figs were ripe, and 
now ’tis the month of Tisri, and the men are plough- 
ing and sowing, and the feast of the Tabernacles is at 
hand.” 

Achsah hesitated a moment, it was hard to re- 
fuse the child — besides, why should she? 

“I will see thy mother, dearest heart,” she said. “I 
fear Adoniram is too busy preparing for thy feast this 
afternoon, to go with us; still, thy mother may be 
willing for us to go unattended.” 

And Binea, when persuaded hard, gave her consent, 
thinking more, perhaps, of her household concerns 
just then, and of the gifts which she must have in 
readiness for each little guest, than of Achsah’s words. 

So once again the maiden and the child went forth 
together, and Salome drew a deep breath of delight 
when they reached the shelter of the trees. Although 
the air had grown much cooler, the day was pleas- 
ant, and Salome nestled down upon Achsah’s out- 
spread cloak, and listened, as before, to stories of the 

39 


9 t if s a & 

time when the Jewish nation under Solomon was in 
its glory. 

Even while Achsah spoke, her thoughts wandered 
to that other time when they had come there, and 
she thought of the Roman, half sadly. Did he re- 
member her still, or had she passed from out his 
thoughts even as from out his life? Why, oh why, 
was he not a Hebrew? 

Then she checked herself, with an angry flush. 
What was it to her? She was nothing to the Roman, 
or he to her ! 

And all the while that she sat beneath the trees, 
cruel eyes were watching her, and brutal hands were 
drawing near to satisfy their vengeance for her 
haughty coldness. 


40 


i 


CHAPTER VII. 

The figure crept nearer and nearer to the Jewish 
maid, keeping cautiously out of the line of her vision, 
until at last a man sprang with one powerful leap 
to her side, and lifting the girl in his arms, rushed 
off amid the trees before Salome had comprehended 
all that passed. One scream burst from Achsah’s lips 
as her captor bore her off, but ere she could give 
utterance to another the man with a fierce imprecation 
had smothered her face in his robe, holding her so 
closely that she could not give another cry — indeed 
could scarcely breathe. 

At the farther end of the garden, he suddenly 
stopped, hiding himself in a thick clump of trees, and 
peering forth eagerly upon the road that skirted the 
grove there. Far down the road he descried some 
object that seemed to afford him great satisfaction. 

“Ah !” he cried triumphantly, “the God of Abra- 
ham hath not deserted me. I have only wished to 
serve him. I sought the life of Jairus because the 
man is no more fit to be a ruler in our synagogue. 
He gives credence to the Nazarene and to all the 
absurd claims made in his behalf. If Jairus does not 
openly avow his heresy, it is because he wishes to 
keep his place in the synagogue. I hate him! I 
wanted to kill the ruler who believes in that blas- 
phemous Nazarene! It would have been a righteous 
deed and well carried out, had not those thrice- 
accursed Romans chanced along just then.” 

4i 


3 c b 0 a b 

At that moment the wretch became conscious that 
Achsah was struggling violently to escape from his 
relentless grasp. Half fainting as she was from want 
of air, and from terror as well, she yet put forth all 
her feeble strength to regain her freedom. He 
laughed mockingly at her efforts. 

“You may as well be quiet in my arms, sister of 
Jairus,” he cried contemptuously. “Soon thou wilt 
find these arms thy only refuge; then wilt thou be 
glad enough to flee to them. A conveyance comes, 
and it will soon stop here for us. My money can 
buy friends even under the Roman’s eyes. We shall 
join a caravan that journeys to Damascus. There 
shall I be safe. I did fear that I must go without 
my choicest morsel of revenge, but the God of Abra- 
ham has granted my prayer, and thou hast walked 
into the snare. Jairus ” 

But that sentence was never finished, for an iron 
hand gripped his throat and strong arms tore the 
Jewish maiden from his grasp. 

“Art thou hurt, oh, love?’’ Junius whispered pas- 
sionately. “His life shall answer for this insult to 
thee. Speak ! let me know that thou art safe.” 

“I am safe,” she murmured faintly, clinging to his 
arm as he knelt beside her on the grass. “But I 
beseech thee, do not leave me ! See ! I implore your 
aid even as you once prophesied. Do not let me stay 
alone for even a moment.” 

“Hush,” he said gently, putting back her veil, that 
she might look around. “Lamech is in the custody of 
Roman soldiers ; they are taking him to the Daysmon 
for trial even now. Forget that boastful prophecy of 
mine. Rather than have you suffer thus, I would 
fain it had never been fulfilled.” 

Achsah’s eyes followed the group of soldiers as they 
moved slowly away with their struggling prisoner. 

42 


a c ft s a ft 

Then she turned and glanced full at the Roman, albeit 
with lips that trembled. 

“I seem always to be in your debt.” 

“You must not think of that,” he answered gravely. 
“The debt is mine when I can render service to you 
or yours. Yet it is sweet to know that you turn 
to me in your terror, and so far forget your cus- 
tom at times, as to say ‘thee’ to me. Achsah, my 
life, could you not learn to love and trust me?” 

“You are ungenerous,” she cried, springing to her 
feet. “You know that I am here alone with you, as 
I ought not to be, and that I am most deeply under 
bonds to you. You should not speak such words at 
such a time !” 

“You are right,” he said sadly. “But if I waited for 
a proper time, ’twould never come. Let my love speak 
my pardon. Were I a Hebrew, I might be generous 
in choosing times and ways and means ; but I am not 
a Hebrew. I am a Roman, rich and powerful; yet 
for thy sake I could wish that I were a beggarly 
Jew. Thus would I find more favor in thy sight.” 

“I prithee hush such speech,” she exclaimed in 
sudden alarm, “and tell me if thou knowest aught of 
Salome ?” 

“The child is safe at home. I found her but a 
moment after the villain had snatched you from her 
side and I sent her to the house of Jairus with one 
of my trusty servants. I saw she had no clear idea 
of what had happened. Though she was much terri- 
fied, I easily persuaded her that it was a harmless 
joke played on you by some half-crazy man, and 
that I would return you safe. Then,” said Junius 
with a smile, “as I had brought with me a birthday 
gift for her, purposing to leave it at thy house, I gave 
it to her then, and so she went home happily, with 
her thoughts distracted for a time from you.” 

43 


3 c & S a f) 

“You were most kind ; but how did you chance here 
so opportunely, with all the soldiers?” 

“The soldiers, my love, were near at hand search- 
ing these woods for Lamech, for we had reason to 
suppose that he was near this place in hiding. As 
for me, I came because you came. While Lamech was 
at large I could not rest for fear some evil might 
befall you. So have I watched your every movement. 
I should have overtaken you more speedily, but I 
dared not leave Salome in such terror lest the child, 
in her weak state, might die. So I paused to signal 
my soldiers. That is all.” 

“And you have watched me all these days?” she 
asked in slow amaze. 

“What better could I do?” he softly questioned. 
“For what in all this world but thee, do I care?” 

Achsah threw out her hands in a sudden wild ges- 
ture of despair. “Listen ! I will tell you all my heart 
as truthfully as I may. So much at least is due to 
you from me. Were you a Hebrew, I would wed 
you — if Jairus did approve. Hush! keep away! you 
must not touch me. It is because we are so far 
asunder that I dare say all this, without a blush or 
tear.” 

“By all the gods of Olympus,” Junius cried joy- 
ously, “those words have made thee mine. I will 
see Jairus this very day, and whatever he demands I 
will accede to. O, Achsah, Achsah! how I love thee; 
let me take thy hand; let ” 

“Be silent,” she cried imperiously. “My hand you 
shall not touch. Do you not understand ? I can never, 
never wed thee? The God of Israel is a jealous God. 
He will have no other gods before him. We are suf- 
fering now for the sins of idolatry committed by our 
fathers. Would you know how they came to sin? 
They did marry with the daughters of heathen na- 

44 


9 c ft s a ft 

tions. Thus it was that the curse of idolatry crept 
in amongst us. Since our return from captivity we 
have never worshipped any God, save the one great 
Jehovah. Neither will we to the end of time. That 
we may keep this vow, and preserve ourselves a pe- 
culiar people, no Jewish maid or man may wed any 
save a Hebrew. A marriage with such as thee is im- 
possible. No priest, or teacher, or elder, would unite 
us. The God of Abraham, of Isaac, and of Jacob 
would forever curse me. Never more could I look 
upon the faces of Jairus and Binea and Salome. 
God’s wrath would be upon me. Now go, and re- 
member that thenceforward no words of any kind 
shall be spoken by you to me.” 

“You cannot mean all you say, Achsah,” the Ro- 
man cried supplicatingly. “If thy words be true, and 
I am somewhat dear to thee, then can we wed. Naught 
else can stand between us. Have not the Romans 
wed at times with the dark Egyptians, though they 
know nothing of Jupiter and all the gods of great 
Olympus, but worship Isis and Isirus and Horus? 
Since Julius Caesar conquered all the Germans to the 
north of Rome, we have oft wedded with the women 
there, but of Juno, and our gods they know nothing. 
Still was the marriage blest, and so with thee, dear 
love ” 

“Junius,” she cried desperately, “each word you 
say proves but more clearly that my speech was true, 
and that a gulf deep as all time rests fixed betwixt 
us. You may not span it. You do only give me pain 
and rack my heart. I will not wed with thee, and 
never willingly will I behold thy face again. Now, 
I go to my brother’s house ; ’tis selfish of me thus, 
to linger when they, mayhap, are filled with deep 
anxiety on my behalf.” 

“I will go with thee,” said the Roman gravely. 

45 


a c b s a & 

“But think not that all is ended now ’twixt thee and 
me. If I have touched thy heart, all else may be 
achieved. Thy words I understand not. Worship in 
thy synagogue, if so thou list; I care not. Whilst thou 
goest there I will offer up my prayers to Jupiter; so 
can we dwell in peace. Our house will hold both gods. 
This evening shall I see Jairus, love, and tell him all 
that hath passed between us two, since first I saw 
thee. This is thy brother’s right. Now come, I shall 
take thee safely to his arms.” 


46 


CHAPTER VII. 


Achsah, with bowed head, and firm, closed lips, 
walked with swift steps by his side. No word more 
was spoken by either until, as they were about emerg- 
ing from the Garden, the Roman gave a little excla- 
mation of surprise. Achsah, looking quickly up, saw 
Jairus with Adoniram hastening toward them. 

The ruler caught his sister in his arms. “The God 
of Abraham be praised that thou art safe! Salome 
seemed not able to tell much of what had happened 
here, but I did fear some evil thing, although I gath- 
ered from her speech that Junius was here, and he I 
knew would stand thy friend. What happened, Ach- 
sah? Relate it all to me.” 

So Achsah, trembling still, told all the tale, and 
the men stood by with darkening brows as they 
listened to her faltering words. 

“In a caravan !” the Roman exclaimed. “Some one 
then, has played false to the emperor, and had agreed 
for gold to take the Jew to Damascus! They shall 
not escape thus. My swiftest soldiers shall overtake 
them, and bring them to Jerusalem to answer to 
the highest tribunal for this treachery. I must go to 
the fort at once upon this matter, but before I go, 
Jairus, tell me where we may meet this eve. I must 
speak with thee upon a matter close to my heart.” 

“Come to my house, Junius,” the ruler made reply. 
“What I have is thine. Were you twenty times a 

47 


a c 6 0 at) 

Roman, my friendship should still be yours. Our 
gratitude will follow thee for ay, because of this day’s 
deeds — — ” 

“No more, I pray,” the Roman interrupted. “I 
shall test your gratitude this night ; till then, the gods 
keep you.” 

“Knowest thou what he means, Achsah?” Jairus 
asked keenly as the Roman walked swiftly away. 

“Yea, and I would tell thee all. Send Adoniram 
home that he may reassure Binea, and I will tell 
thee here, where we may speak unmolested.” 

“As thou wilt,” and with a few words, Adoniram 
was sent off on his mission, and Jairus stood with 
folded arms beneath a mighty tree, while Achsah, 
in low and trembling tones, told all that had passed 
between the Roman and herself, omitting no word of 
love that he had spoken. 

As she ended Achsah glanced up fearfully into her 
brother’s face. “Art thou angry with me, Jairus?” 
she questioned anxiously. 

“No, my sister,” he said slowly. “Thou art not at 
fault that I can see. I would this had not happened. 
A marriage betwixt thee and him cannot be. That, 
however, it will be hard to make him see. He looks 
upon the God of Abraham as but the God of any na- 
tion ; the Romans have their gods ; the Germans, 
theirs ; the Grecians, theirs ; the Persians, theirs ; and 
Junius doth think that the God of our fathers who 
brought us out of the house of bondage is like unto all 
other gods. To-night I must make him see the differ- 
ence, if so be that I can. You must meet him no more, 
Achsah, and that he must understand full well. One 
word further : Although thy older brother, I have put 
but few commands on thee since thou hast been my 
care, but I do now insist that never shalt thou go forth 
from the house again without a servant at thy side. 


a c b 0 a J) 

This is not my mere wish — it is my command. Dost 
thou understand me quite?” 

“Yea,” she faltered, chilled by his sternness. 

“Then see that in this thou dost yield me implicit 
obedience, as is my rightful due. Strange customs 
creep in now amongst us Hebrews since we mingle 
with the nations on all sides of us, but I will remain 
a Hebrew of the Hebrews. The poorer women go 
alone upon the streets, so do those who care not for 
their good name. Thou dost belong to neither class, 
and for the future I shall take good heed that thy 
thoughtlessness exposes thee neither to the insults 
of some vile wretch like Lamech, or to the aid of an 
alien like the Roman, Junius. Dost thou mean to 
obey me in the full spirit of my words?” 

“Did I ever refuse request of thine?” she faltered. 
“I will obey thee, I promise it, but do not speak so 
harshly. Thou hast never used such tone to me be- 
fore, and I cannot bear it now. I have stood too much 

to-day. Be kind to me ” and then of a sudden 

she burst into a storm of sobs, and Jairus felt his 
sternness melt away like mist. 

“There, Achsah,” he said, kissing her, “forget my 
tone, remember but thy promise. If I seemed harsh, 
it was because my love for thee made me dread lest 
danger should again kiss thy garment’s hem. I would 
shield thee from all harm. Nor would I curtail thy 
freedom too greatly. I shall tell Binea this day that 
Adoniram henceforward is thy servant; when thou 
wishest to go forth hesitate not to call on him. Now 
look up and smile on me. That is but a poor smile, 
Achsah, but we will go now to Binea, and thou shalt 
rest, poor, shaken, trembling child, within thy room.” 

So they went forth, and Jairus guided her steps 
with all his wonted tenderness, but he spoke nothing 
further, until his own door was reached. 

49 


a t b 8 a ft 

Then putting his hand upon her shoulder, he bent 
down and looked deep into her eyes. “My sister, 
dost thou wish this Roman were a Hebrew?” 

Then as the color swiftly flew into the maiden’s 
cheeks, his hand fell, and he sighed heavily. “Go !” 
he said mournfully, “I see how it is with thee. The 
curse of God rests upon us and happiness comes not.” 

Achsah flew quickly to her room, but even there 
the tumult of her thought would not be stilled. She 
flung herself upon the floor, lying there in stunned 
despair and hopelessness, until Salome, searching 
through the rooms, found her at length, and begged 
her to get ready for the birthday feast. 

The day passed like a dream, a hideous one. Ach- 
sah walked among the blithe-faced maidens scarce 
knowing what she said, only feeling blindly her own 
unhappy fate and her impotence to alter it. That night 
she heard the Roman come, as she had known full 
well that he would. His voice mingled with that of 
Jairus, and the two talked on and on for many hours, 
until Binea fell asleep, and Achsah waited on alone. 

At last the foot of Jairus sounded on the stairs and 
Achsah heard him walking toward her room. He 
peered in as she sat by the dim lamp, and called her 
softly. 

“Thou must come down this once, my sister,” he 
said. “I have talked long with him, and told him all 
our God hath done for us, and I have repeated to him 
much from the Law and the Prophets, and though 
he does not comprehend my words in full, he sees 
that we dare not wed with one who worships heathen 
gods. That much is clear to him at last. He pleaded 
hard to see thee for a moment in my presence — 
come.” 

But Achsah seemed reluctant. “To what good, 
Jairus? It only can serve to give us both new pain.” 

50 


Scbsat) 

“Come, nevertheless. He saved my life and thy 
honor, and dost thou grudge him now so slight return 
as lies in our power to give?” 

At those words Achsah turned and left the room, 
her brother slowly following. Below, in the day- 
room, stood the Roman beside the small lamp. His 
face was pale and haggard, but he smiled faintly 
as his eyes fell on the Jewish maid. 

“Thou art good to me,” he said softly, taking 
her hand all unrebuked. “I could not go forth from 
this house never to enter it again without beholding 
thy face once more. Jairus has told me much to- 
night. I cannot understand your God, but I do see 
at last that you would rather die than wed a man 
like me who worships foreign gods.” 

“Prithee, forgive us for any pain you suffer,” Ach- 
sah murmured, not daring to meet the eyes which 
rested full upon her unveiled face. 

“The fault in all is mine, my love,” Junius returned, 
sadly. “You told me from the first that my love was 
a thing impossible, but I would not believe it. To- 
day have I received an appointment from the em- 
peror as procurator of one of the great German 
provinces. I return to Rome by the boat that goes 
a month hence, and I did dream for a few brief 
hours that I should take thee with me as my bride, to 
be honored and praised and to be surrounded with all 
the luxury that my wealth could command; but ” 

Suddenly Achsah tore her hand from his, and 
threw herself into the arms of Jairus. “Oh, bid him 
go and leave me ! I am not made of stone that I can 
stand this,” she cried passionately. The ruler looked 
upon the Roman sadly. “Yea, thou hadst better go,” 
and Junius without further word went out into the 
darkness. 


51 


CHAPTER VIII. 


It seemed to Achsah, in the numb agony which fol- 
lowed that night of suffering, as if life had ended 
for her. She could look forward to no possible joy; 
no outlet to a broader, fuller life. Marriage, which 
alone could give a Jewish maiden some certain de- 
gree of freedom, was a thing impossible for her. 

Since she might not wed with the Roman (to whom, 
she freely acknowledged now in her inmost thoughts, 
her heart had turned from the first), she would not 
wed with any. 

Life, she felt, could hold no deeper bitterness for 
her. But in that she was mistaken. She had not yet 
drained her cup of suffering to its dregs. 

Jairus watched her closely, though he said but little. 
On the third day after her farewell to Junius, he 
called her to him, as he sat alone, pondering the 
apocryphal treatise on “Wisdom.” 

“Art thou grieving for the Roman?” he asked 
abruptly. 

“I can but think of him,” she answered, flushing 
somewhat ; “but I desire not to behold his face again.” 

“I judge that thou wilt cherish him within thy 
thoughts, until he is displaced by some one else. Thou 
hast nothing to occupy thy mind, so it dwells on the 
Roman. Achsah,” he added sternly, “this must not 
be. It is an offense against the God of Abraham. I 
will give thee other thoughts on which to dwell, so 
canst thou banish the image of Junius from your heart, 
forever. See that you do it.” 

52 


acMaii 

“Jairus, what dost thou mean?” she cried in vague 
alarm. 

”1 mean that thou must act thy part nobly as a Jew- 
ish maiden should. That thy thoughts did involuntar- 
ily incline to the man is excusable, for in sooth he is 
honorable and goodly to look upon, yet, for thee to 
ponder on his memory as it is most evident thou dost, 
is wicked, and Jehovah will surely punish thee. The 
Roman is a heathen.” 

“Jairus, thou art not thyself; you never spoke 
harshly to me till now of late. Can I control my 
thoughts? I would that so I might. Then, would I 
make them full of gladsome memories, instead of 
things which only give me pain. The God of Abra- 
ham doth know my purpose ; he sees that it is right- 
eous; had it cost me nothing to send Junius from my 
side, and to turn deaf ears to his sweet words of love 
— then would small credit belong to me for the sacri- 
fice I made. I tell thee, Jairus, that for all thy knowl- 
edge thou knowest little of a woman’s heart. I made 
more of a sacrifice unto the God of Abraham when I 
sent the Roman away than ever thou didst offer with 
all thy tithes and yearly shekels.” 

“Thou didst well,” Jairus rejoined in a somewhat 
softer tone, “but couldst thou have done less? Ye 
know full well that hadst thou been inclined to go 
forth with the Roman I had slain thee at my very 
feet sooner than have had such pollution come upon 
my house. Ye could have acted not otherwise but as 
ye did.” 

“Didst thou summon me into thy presence but to 
speak such words as this?” Achsah coldly asked. 

“Yea — and to say something further, too. Abini- 
dab, the son of Abihu, hath send his friends to me 
to negotiate for thy hand, and I think well of his pro- 

53 


a c {) 0 a 6 

posals. He is an honorable man, and fairly prosper- 
ous ; when thou art wedded to him ” 

“I do believe thou art mad, in good sooth, Jairus,” 
the maiden cried in terror. “Junius I will not wed, 
for Jehovah doth forbid it; but I tell thee now, my 
heart is his. His will it remain forever ; perhaps when 
we are dead and Junius in the great beyond hath come 
to know that there is but one God, and that he alone 
is worthy of all praise, that our spirits then may come 
together and rejoice.” 

“Hush ! not another word from thy blasphemous 
lips,” Jairus cried angrily, springing to his feet, while 
his valuable scroll fell all unnoted to the floor; “such 
language is impious, and thou shalt not give utterance 
to it in the house of Jairus. I am master here; thou 
art but a woman and thy obedience is mine.” 

“Jairus,” the girl said sadly, “I know thee better 
than thou knowest thyself ; thou art racked 
just now with doubts about the Nazarene. Thou 
hearest more about him daily. He hath been 
in this vicinity again; his words were marvelous, and 
by his touch he made the lame to walk, and healed 
the blind, and caused the sick to become well. Thou 
hast seen it for thyself. Now, thou art perplexed as 
to thy course. Ye are not ready yet to say he is of 
God, so ye palter and wait ; and while ye wait, ye fret 
and make yourself half ill with this uncertainty. One 
other thing I see, Jairus,” she went on steadily, al- 
though her lips grew pale at her own daring, “you 
fear lest Salome die, and you are casting about for 
something to propitiate Jehovah, so that he will spare 
her life. Ye think to make my marriage that sacri- 
fice.” 

“Is it not reasonable?” Jairus cried wrathfullv; 
“that thou hast read my heart aright I do not deny. 

54 


a c& 0 a i> 

But my thought is true. The God of Abraham is surely 
displeased with us, else Salome would not fade thus 
before my sight like a drooping flower. Thou hast 
surely brought the anger of Jehovah upon us; thou 
canst save Salome by doing a righteous deed and giv- 
ing thyself in marriage to Abinidab.” 

“Now hear me, Jairus, for I mean each syllable I 
utter. Thou art a man — I but a maiden, and, as thy 
sister, subject unto thee. But I tell thee now that in 
this matter I never will obey thee. Yea! ye need not 
look so startled. Even a woman may gain courage 
in her time of need. Salome’s illness had commenced 
before I ever saw the Roman. The God of Abraham 
would deem my marriage with Abinidab an adulter- 
ous affair, for my love is not his — and never will be. 
’Tis not thy true self that speakest thus to me ; it is the 
baser Jairus, whom some evil chance hath roused to 
unsuspected life.” 

“And thou wilt not yield thy consent to the pro- 
posals of Abinidab?” he demanded, the veins in his 
forehead swelling out with angry passion. 

“I will not,” she answered firmly, though trembling 
in every limb, for the man before her seemed not the 
tender brother whom she had known throughout her 
life. 

“Leave me, else I may do thee harm,” he exclaimed ; 
“I will speak to thee again. Thy compliance matters 
little, after all. ’Twas but a form to ask thy consent. 
I can arrange the affair without thee.” 

Achsah paused in the doorway. “Have I not suf- 
fered enough of late, that thou shouldst give me such 
needless pain? Carry out thy plan, if so thou wilt, 
but remember this, when the rabbi and bridegroom 
go to your upper chamber in this house, there to read 
the marriage contract and perform the ceremony, they 
had better bring, not rice and wine and crowns and 

55 


a t b # a b 

hymneal lamps for a bride, but spices and perfumes 
for a corpse.” 

Then, before Achsah could hear his answer, she 
hurried to her room, and closed her door. That 
Jairus, her brother, should be so cruel, was unendur- 
able. Almost she thought that it was all a miserable 
dream of her fevered brain, and that, when next they 
met, he would be as loving as of old. 

But that illusion was soon dispelled. Jairus never 
noticed or spoke to her, but in some subtle way he 
made the girl feel the full weight of his displeasure. 
Those were dreary, endless days, and for a long fort- 
night no change of any kind crept into them. Achsah 
spent her time mostly in her room, often for solace 
looking forth from her latticed window. Thus it was 
that she learned that the Roman rode slowly by the 
house many times a day, scanning all the windows as 
if he fain would see her face. In her astonishment, 
when she discerned him first, she leaned forward, 
sending down to him a tender smile. Even at her 
height, Achsah could see how his face brightened, and 
instantly he made her a low salute. From that time 
on, Achsah watched for him. What mattered it? He 
soon would sail for Rome, and then she nevermore 
would see his face again. She would take what little 
comfort might be hers, since now, none but Junius 
seemed to love her in all the world. So she gladdened 
the Roman’s heart, even in his sadness, by sitting oft 
times at her lattice and wafting to him some mute 
greeting. He looked ill, and Achsah rightly concluded 
that nothing but the hope of seeing her brought him 
forth from his bed. 


56 


/ 


CHAPTER IX. 


Binea had noticed but little of what passed in her 
house of late. Salome had grown so much worse that 
Binea’s time was spent almost wholly by the side of 
her child. Thus two weeks passed drearily. Late 
one night, Achsah was roused from sleep by the voice 
of her sister-in-law. 

“Achsah, I pray thee rise. Salome is much worse 
and hath a fever. Jairus has gone for a physician. 
Come, haste!” 

The anguish in the mother’s voice told more than 
words. Achsah sprang up hastily, throwing her long 
robe around her. She found Salome, tossing restlessly 
upon her mattress, her worn face flushed with fever, 
her hands hot and dry. 

Binea at her side was trying to soothe her child, 
even with the tears rolling down her face. In the hall 
outside were huddled the maidservants, aghast and 
trembling at the news which had roused them from 
their slumbers. 

It seemed a long, long time before Jairus returned, 
but at last he came. The physician that he brought 
looked at Salome gravely and said but little. He gave 
the child some quieting drink, and toward morning 
she fell asleep. Binea drew the curtain across the lat- 
ticed window, and all stole softly from the room, that 
Salome might rest as long as possible. 

Binea crouched in the hall, where she would hear 
her child’s first movement, and Jairus gravely mo- 

57 


a c j) s a i) 

tioned to Achsah to follow him to the day-room below. 
Achsah obeyed fearfully. Surely at such a time Jairus 
would not speak of marriage or kindred subjects to 
her ; yet, she had come to dread any words from him. 
One glance at his face, however, as he paused by a 
lower window, dispelled her alarm. 

“Art thou afraid of me, Achsah, poor dove?” he 
said sadly. “I pray thy forgiveness. I had a dream 
last night, and now I see that I have been striving to 
make thee the scapegoat for my sins of indecision. 
I thought thy marriage with a just man like Abini- 
dab would be pleasing to Jehovah, and so I could gain 
time to settle in my mind about the Nazarene. I 
feared to acknowledge him as from God, and I did 
fear more yet to reject his claims. It seemed to me 
that Jehovah was angry with our house because of my 
procrastination. So I did seek to give time for my- 
self at thy expense. Sister, now that the hand of 
God is laid so heavily upon me, wilt thou not for- 
give ?” 

“Willingly, Jairus,” she cried, throwing her arms 
around the ruler’s neck, as he bent to kiss her. “I 
knew that thou in truth wert not thyself ; thou wert 
overworked, ill, and distraught with fear for Salome. 
O, Jairus, Jairus, dost thou think that she will die?” 

The ruler groaned. “I fear it, and if she doth, the 
light of heaven will cease to shine for me. I am go- 
ing forth now, Achsah, for a short time only. X must 
see Abinidab and tell him that thou wilt not wed with 
any.” 

“Let that wait,” his sister cried. “Thou canst tell 
him that any day ; do not leave thy child now.” 

“I must go,” Jairus returned firmly; “it is a duty 
too long put off, as my dream hath shown me. God 
will punish me if I go not now.” 

Achsah said no more, and the ruler, bestowing on 

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her another kiss, left the house, grief-stricken and 
bowed down. 

Salome had not waked when he returned. Binea 
still sat in the upper hall, and Achsah stole softly 
down to meet Jairus. 

“She is as when you left,” the maiden said in reply 
to his anxious question. 

“The God of Abraham be praised that she yet 
lives,” Jairus ejaculated fervently; “it is more than I 
deserve, but our God doth ever temper justice with 
mercy. I have seen Abinidab himself, my sister, and 
all is ended now betwixt us. Have no further fear 
from him. Achsah, I met the Roman, too.” 

“Tell me of him,” commanded the maiden boldly. 
“I have seen him pass and he doth look ill.” 

“He is ill,” said Jairus heavily, “and from that 
wound which he received in my behalf from Lamech. 
It seemed at first to be healing well, but of late it 
hath become fevered, and he may lose the arm.” 

Achsah started back in dismay and horror. 

“It is even so, Achsah. He would not tell me all 
the truth until I forced it from his lips. He hath 
grieved so deeply over losing thee that the arm became 
inflamed through sympathy, and now ’tis past all help, 
so the physician doth declare.” 

“Bethink you, he will die,” she questioned with 
pale lips. 

“He seems not to think of that. These Roman phy- 
sicians are most skilled, and Junius told me that this 
one had recently removed a wounded foot that be- 
came gangrened, from one of the soldiers at the fort. 
The soldier is recovering, and the Roman feels that 
the physician will be equally fortunate with him.” 

“He doth not care what happens to him, that is all 
the truth,” cried Achsah, despairingly ; “why doth 
God sQ’afflict us ? Have we not striven to serve Him ? 

59 


ar bsrt h 

Yet Salome, the light of this house, lieth upstairs, sick 
unto death, and Junius will die, too. O, Junius, my 
love ! my love !” 

“Hush, sister/’ Jairus said, tenderly; “perchance 
this sorrow will roll by after all. Do not unman me 
quite. I have shed more tears since last night’s sun 
went down than in all my life before. I told Junius 
of our sorrow, and he would send the Roman physi- 
cian here. Perchance the man may aid my child some- 
what.” 

“God grant it ; hark, Binea moves. Salome must 
have wakened.” 

“Let us go up, then, and when thou hearest the 
maids admit the physician, send up to me at once. I 
shall not leave my child’s bed again till she be better 


Only in his thoughts could Jairus complete that sen- 
tence. But Achsah understood too well. In the upper 
hall Binea met them. Salome was again moaning with 
fever, the ruler passed in to her room. 

“Achsah,” asked the weary mother, “wilt thou take 
my place in the household? We cannot all be in Sa- 
lome’s room. So many faces do confuse and tire her. 
I must be there — I am her mother. Wilt thou see to 
things for me?” 

“With all my heart; I would I could do more to 
ease thy pain, Binea,” Achsah replied, tearfully. But 
Binea herself was beyond the reach of tears just then, 
and hurried back to Salome with no further word. 

Mechanically the maiden moved about the house, 
and gave the daily orders to the servants; she was 
thus occupied when word was brought to her that the 
physician from the Roman fort waited below. 

Achsah hurried down to greet him ; he stood within 
the day-room, tall and noble in his presence. 

“I thank you for your courtesy,” she gravely said, 
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3 c b t a ft 

“in coming thus to a Jewish house. Ah! I hear my 
brother now. He comes to greet you.” 

The physician, following Achsah from the room, met 
Jairus in the hall. The ruler’s face told but too painly 
of the anguish of his soul, and the sorrow that hung 
over him. 

He wrung the Roman’s hand in silence, then led 
him quickly to Salome’s bed. Achsah looked after 
them wistfully. She loved the child with all her heart, 
but now she was so powerless to give her aid. With 
slow step she turned back to the day-room, there to 
weep out her sorrow. But as the tears sprang forth, 
she felt strong arms around her, and looking up in 
terrified amaze, she saw the face of Junius bending 
over her, and felt his kisses falling on her brow. 

Too weak and weary to resist his strength just 
then, she put her head upon his shoulder and sobbed 
out all her misery. 

‘Tell me all that has happened, love, to make thee 
look so sad since I last saw thee,” Junius whispered; 
“even before Salome was so ill thy face within the 
window looked pale and worn. What hath chanced?” 

And Achsah told him all; as he listened, his eyes 
kindled, and his breath came quick. “So,” he cried, 
“for my sake thou wouldst not wed this Jew ! my 
love, I do believe thou carest for me ! Is it not so, 
Achsah? Canst thou bear to send me hence ten days 
from now, never to look upon thy face again?” 

“Oh, have pity on me, Junius,” she cried. “I love 
thee, as I never thought to love, with all my heart and 
soul and strength, but that doth make my life the 
harder. I cannot, cannot wed thee ! This is no time 
to speak of love when Salome lies so near to death, 
yet I may never look on thee again. So shalt thou 
know the full truth from my lips, and thus do I atone 
for all my coldness to thee.” 

61 


a c b s a t> 

“I thank thee, love,” he murmured passionately; 
“those words shall be my solace through all the dreary 
years to come. I came here with the physician, hop- 
ing to get some glimpse of thee, but I did not dare to 
hope for such a glimpse of Elysium as this. Thou 
didst not see me at first, Achsah.” 

“No,” she said, loosing herself from his arms; “I 
never thought but that he came alone. Junius, each 
time we meet it makes it but the harder yet to part.” 

“I would it made it so hard for thee that thou 
couldst not send me forth alone.” 

“Do not dream of such a thing; my love is thine; 
that, I may not control although I tried; my hand I 
cannot yield thee. Say no more.” 

And feeling that her resolution was in truth un- 
changeable, the Roman wrestled with his grief in 
silence. As they stood there thus, Jairus entered the 
room, a look of mortal agony upon his face. 

“Salome!” cried Achsah, her voice freighted with 
keenest apprehension. “What says the physician?” 

“She cannot recover,” Jairus groaned. “O heaven ! 
could ye not spare my one lamb ?” 


62 


CHAPTER X. 


A solemn silence followed the ruler’s speech. In 
the awful shadow of death words seemed common- 
place. At length Jairus rose. “Junius, wilt thou wait 
here till my return? I shall be back this evening if 
Jehovah prospereth me.” 

“Where goest thou at such a time?” Achsah cried 
in startled amaze. 

“To seek the Nazarene,” Jairus made answer, firmly. 
“He hath crossed the sea, and is in the country round 
about. I shall seek until I find him, for now am I 
assured that he comes from God. Perchance he will 
listen to my prayer and save my child.” 

Then, folding his cloak closely around him, Jairus 
passed from the house. 

“What dost thou think, Junius,” cried Achsah in de- 
spair; “can there be any hope in this strange Man?” 

“I know not,” the Roman thoughtfully replied. “He 
hath done wondrous things, of a truth. I passed a 
crowd once not long since in the plains of Gennesaret ; 
the tones of a man’s voice reached me, penetrating 
and marvelously sweet. I could but stop. The crowd 
about was made up of the poorest Jews and Gentiles 
from all the country round. He taught them mysteri- 
ous things, and they hung upon his words in veriest 
rapture. Even I, a Roman, have treasured his utter- 
ances within my heart, and pondered on them oft. 
When he finished speaking, he walked among the lame 
and sick and blind, and healed them all.” 

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3 c b 0 a & 

“And thou dost think he may cure Salome ?” 

“Yea, I do, love — if he come not too late.” 

“Too late! then thou dost fear her death will now 
be soon ! Oh, God of Abraham, grant her breath yet 
for a space, until this Nazarene shall come; for even 
he with all his mighty power cannot make the dead 
to live again! I must go to her, Junius. Wait thou 
here till my return.” 

When Achsah came back with soft step but a few 
moments later, her tears were falling so fast that she 
could not see the face of Junius for them. “Thy phy- 
sician motioned me not to enter,” she said, going to 
the Roman’s side as he sat upon the couch; “he and 
Binea sit by Salome; the child doth scarcely seem 
to breathe, and Binea might be almost dead herself, 
so like a corpse does she look — Junius, what aileth 
thee?” she cried suddenly. 

“Naught of consequence, my love,” he returned, 
with a faint smile. “I would that I could aid the 
child ” 

“Thou canst not,” she interrupted; “only Jehovah, 
methinks, can do that. But something doth ail thee. 
Is it thy arm, Junius? I will have the truth.” 

“It pains me somewhat,” he answered in so faint a 
tone that Achsah could barely hear it. “It must come 
off to-morrow, else ’twill be too late, and I would live 
yet longer, though life will lose all of its sweetness 
when I no longer breathe the same air as thee, my 
star.” 

“Let me summon the physician now,” she pleaded. 
“Junius, I cannot bear to see thee suffer so; it wrings 
my heart. Salome seems to sleep, she will not need 
him for a brief space.” 

“Nay, Achsah,” he said resolutely; “thou must not 
take him for an instant from the child. He could give 
me no relief. My trouble lies too deep for that. I 

64 


a c t) s a f) 

sorrow, love, that it cloth so unman me now, when I 
fain would comfort thee.” 

“Thy presence comforts me more than aught else 
could ; why should I pretend otherwise ? I never 
thought to speak thus freely with thee, and ’tis but 
the strange occasion that makes the opportunity. Sa- 
lome in her life and in her death as well, doth seem but 
to bind us closer each to each.” 

“Yet thou wouldst break the bond,” he murmured 
sorrowfully. 

“Only because I must. My will and heart do lean 
toward thee — but Jehovah forbids our espousal. Now 
let me minster to thee.” 

And Achsah brought him cooling drinks and fruit, 
and bound up his wound anew, anl all the while they 
talked softly of Salome, and the Roman suffered her 
ministrations, knowing that such a joy could never 
more be his throughout all time. As they sat, side 
by side, the Roman clasping close her hand, he mur- 
mured words of comfort and of love. Achsah listened, 
soothed through all her sorrow, and speaking no word 
of reproach for his boldness. 

What cared she in the very shadow of death for the 
customs that hemmed her in? She threw all conven- 
tionality aside, and Junius, to his astonishment and 
joy, found that she leaned upon his words, as if she 
were his wife, and not in truth a maiden upon whose 
face he soon might look no more. 

As they sat thus, the Roman fighting back as best 
he might the almost ungovernable pain in his arm, 
a shrill cry of anguish echoed and reechoed through 
the house. Such a cry it was that those who heard it 
never could blot it from their memories, a cry of 
agony, of loss unutterable, of sorrow beyond the ken 
of most. 

Achsah sprang to her feet. 

65 


“Come,” she gasped. 


acfisal) 

“something terrible hath happened. That is Binea’s 
voice.” 

She hurried with fleet steps through the crowd of 
frightened, sobbing servants that had gathered in the 
hall. Straight to Salome's room she went, Junius 
following. Upon the threshold she stopped, appalled. 
Salome was dead. No need to look a second time 
upon her face to catch the dread imprint of death. 
On the floor Binea lay, the physician bending over 
her and trying to bring back life into that face almost 
as deathlike as her child’s. 

Then followed hours of confusion which Achsah 
could never wholly forget. 

The wailing and the weeping of the servants broke 
forth irrepressibly; the house was filled with their 
lamentations and the noise of the minstrels. Achsah 
felt as if the fountain of her tears had dried forever; 
she longed to weep, but could not. She helped the 
physician to bring the mother back to life, feeling in 
her heart the while as if Binea would not thank them 
for their labor. What was life to the mother now that 
the child of her love was dead? 

The Roman, and the Jewish maid, alike obeyed the 
low commands of the physician, and ere an hour had 
passed, Binea, carried gently to her own apartment, 
had wearily come back to consciousness again. 

Achsah, leaving the room for a moment upon an 
errand, met Adoniram in the upper hall. 

“Mistress,” he questioned between his sobs, “my 
master seeketh the Nazarene. Shall I go after him?” 

“Yea, Adoniram; tell him not to trouble the Man, 
for the maid is dead, and his house is left unto him 
desolate.” 

The sound of wailing penetrated distinctly to Bi- 
nea’s room, and told her all that for a time she had 
mercifully forgotten. Despite the entreaties of Ach- 
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9 c ft 0 aft 

sah, she struggled to her feet and tottered to the room 
where lay the clay that a short time since had been 
the habitation of as dear a spirit as ever breathed. 

Beside the bed of Salome, the two women poured 
forth their grief, while in the hall outside the Romans 
paced restlessly to and fro, cursing their own impo- 
tence and helplessness. 

“Junius, this excitement is most bad for you,” the 
physician said, seriously. “It will put you in such a 
state of mind and body that I shall not dare to meddle 
with your arm. It is a hazardous experiment at best.” 

“I care but little,” Junius replied. “If Pluto be 
ready to receive my shade, so be it. I will not rebel. 
I would, though, thou couldst hush this most infernal 
noise. Those minstrels sure will drive me mad.” 

“It is the Hebrew custom, Junius ; I can do naught. 
They keep this up for thirty days, I understand. I 
pray Jupiter they do not kill the mother, too. We 
will leave as soon as Jairus doth return. A servant 
hath gone for him, and we will both be better far 
from this grief, which we cannot assuage.” 

“We will go when Jairus doth return,” Junius as- 
sented; then silence fell between the two, and the 
younger man shut firm his lips to keep back the groans 
of pain, even while he listened to the broken words of 
Achsah, as she strove to speak comfort to Binea. 

Suddenly a tumult outside the house smote on 
their ears, and, going to a window, Junius saw an im- 
mense crowd surging in the street. In front of the 
crowd walked the Nazarene ; near him were his chosen 
disciples and Jairus and Adoniram. 

“The Nazarene hath come,” exclaimed the physi- 
cian in surprise, “though I did hear the maiden send 
word that he should not be troubled, for the child 
was dead.” 

Outside, the Nazarene paused, and spoke a few 

67 


aci>$8fe 

words which the listeners above could not hear. The 
import they could easily surmise, however, for in- 
stantly the crowd surged back and became silent. The 
Nazarene, with a slight gesture of command, passed 
to the doorway; Jairus and Adoniram walked by his 
side, and three disciples followed. 


68 


CHAPTER XI. 


As Jairus opened the door of his house, the Naza- 
rene glanced searchingly upon the outer post where 
the mezuzah was affixed ; then his eyes rested with a 
kindly glance upon the ruler. 

Achsah, hearing the tumult in the street, had come 
forth from the room in which Salome lay, and Adoni- 
ram passed swiftly to her side. “I gave the message, 
mistress, even as thou saidst, but when Jairus told the 
Nazarene that the child lay dead, he said only, ‘Be 
not afraid; only believe/ and he came directly hither, 
even as he had first purposed/ , 

“What good doth he expect to do in this house of 
mourning?” the Roman physician asked mockingly, 
for he and Junius had drawn near to hear the words 
of Adoniram. 

“Hush !” Achsah cried. “He speaketh to the mourn- 
ers below.” 

From the lower room the voice of the Nazarene 
rose majestically to their ears, “Weep not; why make 
ye this ado? the maiden is not dead, but sleepeth.” 

They laughed bitterly and mocked his words, for 
well they knew that Salome was truly dead. The 
Nazarene spoke nothing more to them, but said a few 
low words unto the ruler. 

Then Jairus sternly ordered them to cease their 
lamentations and to go forth instantly from his house. 
Wondering, they obeyed, though with much secret 
scorn and with whispers of contempt. 

69 


acfisiaij 

When all the house was still, Jairus led the Naza- 
rene to Salome’s room. With a slight gesture of his 
hand, the ruler motioned those who waited in the hall 
to go below — then passed in with the three disciples. 

“What means it all ?” the maiden asked with quiver- 
ing lips as she sank down upon the couch that stood 
in the day-room. 

“Nothing that can benefit you, Jewess,” the physi- 
cian replied: “perchance this Man doth think the 
maiden is not really dead, but alas ! there can be no 
question that she is truly dead.” 

“I know it,” Achsah murmured, hopelessly ; but a 
moment later she started to her feet in nameless ter- 
ror, for she caught the sound of Binea’s voice, break- 
ing forth in wild exclamations, half sobs, half mad 
laughter. 

“What hath chanced ? I cannot, cannot wait here” ; 
she darted to the stairs, but at their foot she paused, 
not daring to ascend. A sense of something mysteri- 
ous and awful held her back. She turned to Junius 
who silently had followed, and clutched his wounded 
arm, forgetful for the moment of all but Salome. 
“What doth that Man in this house? I shall be 
wholly crazed if he goes not forth soon.” 

Junius tried to reply, but could not for the anguish 
he was fighting back. The physician roughly loos- 
ened Achsah’s hands. “You are killing him with your 
grasp,” he said curtly. 

“Oh,” she cried, “how thoughtless and how cruel I 
am to thee, Junius, even when least I mean to be ! If 
thou canst, pray forgive me, but I shall not forgive 
myself.” 

“Think not of it, love,” he answered with an effort ; 
“to have thee clasp my arm is bliss enough to heal all 
pain. Hush ! they come.” 

Even as he uttered the words the Nazarene walked 
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3 c f) $ a 6 

slowly down the stairs. His eyes looked far ahead, 
as if they beheld the Invisible. Achsah caught her 
breath in awe, and the Romans looked motionless 
upon that face, so majestic, yet so human ; so Godlike, 
yet so mortal ; so tender, so compassionate, and yet 
so strong; so sweet, so peaceful, yet with such a look 
of grand solemnity. 

Jairus and the three disciples followed, looking like 
men just wakened from a trance. As they reached 
the lower hall, Jairus passed swiftly to the Nazarene’s 
side, and kneeling upon the marble floor, pressed his 
lips reverently to the hem of the Master’s garment. 

“My Lord and my God!” burst from him, as if by 
some hidden power. 

The Nazarene said naught, but looked upon him 
with those eyes which seemed to peer into the inmost 
recesses of the soul, and to read there, as in plainest 
script, the hidden secrets of the heart. 

Slowly he turned his gaze until it rested upon the 
three who watched the scene in mute bewilderment. 
Then, without a word, he stretched forth his hand with 
kingly gesture, and let it rest lightly for a second’s 
space upon the Roman’s arm. Still silent, he folded 
his cloak more closely round him, and so passed into 
the outer air. Jairus followed him with humble, ador- 
ing look. 

The Roman physician broke the silence first with a 
contemptuous laugh. “So that is the charlatan con- 
cerning whom we hear so much ado! He is naught 
but an impostor working upon the fancies of weak 
men and weaker women.” 

At those words, the ruler’s face blazed into angry 
life and passion, but ere he could speak Junius held 
forth his arm, tearing the bandages from it with rapid 
fingers. 

“Who this Man may be, I know not but one thing 

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a c l) $ a ft 

is clear to us all. Whereas, I stood here but a mo- 
ment since, weak as a child, and sick e’en unto death 
— now I am whole and well as you. Behold!” and 
thereupon he stretched forth his arm that had been 
wounded, and now, as they all gazed upon it in speech- 
less astonishment, they found no scar at all upon the 
flesh, no slightest sign of cancerous growth. It was 
firm and whole and perfect. 

The physician grasped it in his hands, still unbe- 
lieving, pinching the flesh and striving with all his 
might to learn how the miracle had been accomplished. 

“It is the work of some necromancer,” he cried 
angrily. 

The Roman smiled. “I was sick ; now I am healed ; 
I was faint; now I am strong. How the Nazarene 
achieved this wonder, I know not. But I do* know 
that when his fingers touched me for an instant, my 
feebleness fell from me like a garment. I speak what 
I do know, and testify what I have felt.” 

The ruler spoke then, with a strange, rapt look upon 
his face. “This is the Lord’s doings. It is marvelous 
in our eyes. Come ye, and see the wonder he hath 
wrought.” 

They followed him in silence up the stairs unto Sa- 
lome’s room. There, Achsah felt the blood flee from 
her heart; she would have fallen to the floor had not 
Junius caught and held her in a close embrace; for 
there, before their eyes, stood the dead. Salome lived; 
she looked on them and smiled. 

******** 

Capernaum was in a tumult of curious wonder. The 
house of Jairus was besieged by those who wished to 
look with their own eyes upon the child. Naught else 
was talked of in the homes or at the public marts. 
The priests in a frenzied rage strove to stop the cur- 
72 


acftsaj) 

rent of excited talk ; they might as well have tried to 
stem the ocean with a block of wood. 

Upon the second day the Roman went again to 
the ruler’s house. His mouth was firmly set and wore 
a look of fixed resolve. 

Jairus welcomed him eagerly, and contrary to the 
Jewish custom led him to the room where the women 
of the family were gathered. 

“I have brought thee here, Junius,” the ruler said, 
“because Salome hath often asked for thee within 
these last two days, and she doth grieve that thou so 
soon must leave us.” 

“I thank thee, Jairus, for showing me such kind- 
ness,” the Roman said, and even as he spoke his eyes 
met Achsah’s, and held them in a gaze which told 
her all his heart. 

“The people still talk of nothing but the wonders 
that happened here two days ago,” said Jairus, 
gravely. “The priests are much enraged at me and de- 
clare that this is all a trick made up to give the Naza- 
rene more power among the credulous.” 

“We, here, know that they utter lies,” the Roman 
cried. “Can I forget my sufferings, or how they sud- 
denly ceased at his mere touch? Salome! speak, and 
tell me what he said to thee. What happened while 
ye lay there dead?” 

“My memory seems sealed,” Salome answered. 
“There are things I fain would tell, but they escape 
me. Perchance I saw visions while dead that it is 
not lawful now for me to utter. What I first remem- 
ber is, that some One took my hand in his, and softly 
said, ‘Talitha cumi,’ and straightway I arose, and felt 
strong as never in my life before. And that is all I 
know.” 

“Verily this Man is Lord of life and death !” cried 
Junius. 


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“Thou hast spoken rightly,” declared the ruler, pac- 
ing the room thoughtfully. “Whatever other men 
may do, I and my house, my man servants and my 
maid servants, and all within my gates shall thence- 
forth serve him.” 

“The priests will never forgive thee, Jairus,” the 
Roman exclaimed. 

“I know that well. They are hypocrites. They hate 
goodness because it doth make manifest their own un- 
righteousness. I know well that the priests will never 
rest until by some means they do put me forth from 
the synagogue. Let them! I shall serve the Naza- 
rene. The God of Abraham is with him.” 

The Roman rose slowly to his feet; “I have waited 
for two whole days to come to thee, until my mind was 
clear as to mine own course in this matter. The gods 
of Olympus are fallen. A greater than they hath 
come into the earth. Mine eyes hath seen the wonders 
he hath wrought.” He paused ; “It was no light thing 
for me to break away from all the traditions of my 
country and my race, and I have neither slept nor 
eaten since I saw ye last for pondering on this, but 
now I come to say I believe in the Nazarene. I have 
heard his teachings. By them shall I strive to live 
henceforth.” 

“And thou, a Roman, canst say this, while mine own 
countrymen do spurn him!” Jairus exclaimed. “It 
passeth mortal wisdom. But thy words do make my 
soul rejoice exceedingly ; we are brothers now in very 
truth.” 

A sudden light leaped into the Roman’s eyes at that 
speech. “Jairus,” he cried impetuously, “I swear that 
I had no such thought in my heart when I came here. 
Thou thyself hath given birth to it, but may not thy 
words become a verity? Give Achsah unto me to be 
my wife, so shall we be brothers. Hush, do not an- 

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swer all too quickly; think upon what I say. I love 
thy sister with my full strength. I do believe her 
heart is mine. Thou canst trust my honor; we both 
do worship the Nazarene. I am not a Jew, ’tis true; 
for her sake, I could find it in my heart to wish I were. 
I am a Roman, rich and powerful ; give thy sister 
unto me; I will shield her, love her, and protect her 
with my life. Achsah !” but Achsah had hidden her 
face upon Binea’s shoulder, and though she spoke no 
word of assent, she yet offered no protest to the Ro- 
man’s petition. So, he was full content. 

But Jairus looked upon him with a troubled brow 
and for a long time he made no reply. Then he sighed 
heavily. 

“Junius, I do honor thee, but thou askest hard 
things of me. To give my sister to a Hebrew who 
but a few days hence would take her from our midst 
into a distant land, would be no easy thing to do. And 
yet, thou — a Roman — dost dare to ask it boldly. How 
is it that the memory of the Nazarene obtrudes itself 
upon my mind and will not let me reject thy suit as 
I fain would do? My life seems all awry, my pur- 
poses all changed. Achsah, rise and let me look on 
thee. So. Now speak. Thou didst hear what Junius 
said. Wouldst thou go with him, if I yielded my 
consent ?” 

The maiden paused, then turned a lightning glance 
upon the officer; so full was it of love and trust that 
if his heart had held one thought disloyal to her, he 
must have perished then through very shame. 

“Yea, brother, I will go with him.” 

“Then, Junius, I dare not refuse thy prayer. But 
for thee, Binea would be widowed, and Salome fath- 
erless. But for thee, too, Achsah would have fallen 
into the hands of Lamech. Never did I think that 
one from my household would wed with an alien, but 

75 


a c ft s a b 

the Nazarene hath taught me many things. Take the 
maid, and the God of Abraham do unto thee as thou 
dost do to her.” 

“Jairus, I thank thee/’ said the Roman solemnly. 
“My life shall prove that I am not all unworthy of thy 
confidence and trust.” Stretching out his hands he 
received the maiden from the ruler’s arms, and in the 
sight of all, he bent down reverently and left his kiss 
upon her lips. 

“ ’Tis almost too sweet to be believed,” he mur- 
mured, passionately. “Is it true that thou, the proud 
Jewish maiden, who scarce would look on me, will 
leave home and kindred for a Roman’s sake? I dare 
not tarry, love, since the Emperor commands my re- 
turn. Next week I must of a surety set sail. Can it 
be,” he questioned, anxiously, “that thou wilt go with 

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me r 

Achsah, with a tender smile, looked first upon her 
kindred — then on him; then she made answer in the 
words of the old story known to every Jew : “Whither 
thou goest, I will go; thy people shall be my people, 
and since we both do worship now the Nazarene, ‘thy 
God, my God/ ” 


THE END. 


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NOTICE 

Other works by Mabel Cronise Jones, 
which may also be ordered direct from the 
publishers : 


Dolly’s College Experiences 

Illustrated. Most attractive. A 
delightful story for girls. Fresh 
and wholesome. $1.50 


Six of Them 

Another girls’ story of great popu- 
larity. $1.00 


Gettysburg 

A story of the great conflict. Blank 
verse. Cloth 50c., paper 25c. 


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$ 

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MAY 21 l»ll 


One copy del. to Cat. Div. 

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